


Angel Near Beside Me

by Anemptywindow



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Child Abuse, Friends to Lovers, Gay Disaster Andrew Minyard, Gay Panic, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Lond-distance pining, M/M, Murder, Mutual Pining, Pining, Self-Harm, meet before canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:46:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 44,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25257913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anemptywindow/pseuds/Anemptywindow
Summary: Andrew felt all the breath leave his body.He was caught in fathomless blue.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 56
Kudos: 199





	1. A Hopeless Prayer

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!! First I would like to thank y'all for checking this out. I wrote this fic 15% because I like pre-canon meet tropes, 40% because I want baby gay Andrew, 30% because I wanted soft Andreil, and 3% because I fucking despise Drake and I gotta write his death at least once (I don't think this adds up to 100, Neil would be so disappointed). I was going to wait till I had like a few chapters already written to start posting, but it just took so long to write this one chapter I just went ahead with it. 
> 
> I'm a new writer so this work ain't betta, and my understanding of commas is rocky at best. I did edit this, but there are going to be mistakes and I have come to terms with that (reluctantly). 
> 
> I am not, however, new to the fandom so I know how the trigger warnings go. Imma be real with y'all there's going to be a lot of heavy stuff. The fic starts off with Andrew at the Spears so we have all that mess, and of course, everything that comes along with AFTG. That being said be kind to yourselves, I want this fic to be a good time for everyone. If you have any concerns or want an edited version of the chapter feel free to message me. 
> 
> So I'm going to go ahead and list the warnings for this chapter.  
> TW for self-harm and implied/referenced self-harm. In the beginning, there's a pretty detailed scene of Andrew cutting his wrists and throughout the chapter, there are references or dealing with the aftermath of Andrew cutting (i.e. Abram wrapping his wounds).  
> TW for referenced/implied rape. Again Andrew is living with the Spears so Drake is in the picture. I don't have any explicit scenes, but Drake raping Andrew is talked about by both Abram and Andrew. There's also a scene where Drake talks about fucking Andrew and he makes some creepy comments about Abram as well. There are also some scenes where he is sexually harassing Andrew (like grinding against him). I feel like Drake should be a trigger warning all by himself.  
> TW for implied/referenced child abuse. Of course, there's the deal with Andrew's home life, but there are also some references to Abram's mother being abusive as well, and she does beat him off-screen. Abram also shares the story of the hot iron from when he was 6. 
> 
> I think that's all for now ( I do have plans for Drake, but all in good time). Please message me if I miss anything or if you have any other concerns. Also if you haven't caught it Neil is going by Abram in this chapter, but he will eventually switch over to Neil. 
> 
> And with that, enjoy!
> 
> *** Edit: I've realised that its difficult for people to contact me (like about triggers) if I don't give them something to contact me with so I now I have a tumblr for this account at anemptywindow.tumblr.com. :)***

Andrew felt the cold seep into his legs where he kneeled on the bathroom floor. The library’s bathroom floor wasn’t the most sanitary place to sit, but hell, Andrew had had to sleep in worse so he wasn’t bothered. Instead, he was focused on the drag of the razor across his wrist, watched as blood swelled from the thin line only to drip into the open toilet. It wasn’t a deep cut, because that wasn’t the point. Andrew didn’t care about how much blood he spilled, what he wanted was the searing pain across his wrist and the scarred line left behind.

Andrew let himself drift into a trance as the pain filled his mind and pushed back the nightmares of last night. One more, just one more line, he thought, adjusting to make another cut. But before he could, a muffled thud sounded above his head. Startled, Andrew jerked back to stare at the ceiling. Nothing seemed out of place, but Andrew hadn’t lived this long by being careless. Hiding his bleeding arm behind his back, Andrew raised the razor defensively, still staring at the ceiling. 

He was just beginning to doubt himself when the ceiling groaned loudly again, and then- Andrew just barely dodged the fallen vent cover. When he looked up again he saw a pair of ratty jeans dangling from the ceiling as the person wearing them struggled to pull himself back up. 

Andrew couldn’t really explain his thought process, maybe it was the skinny legs that were so childlike, or maybe it was the irony of watching someone else struggle to hold on, but something had Andrew dropping his razor and reaching for the kid just as they lost their grip. The kid’s full weight hit Andrew and slammed him into the stall door, knocking out his breath with a grunt. They both slumped to the ground breathing hard, Andrew with his arms wrapped around the kid above him and the kid’s face smashed into his shoulder.

The kid was the first to recover (probably because he had used Andrew as a nice comfy cushion), and he pushed himself up until he was face to face with Andrew. Once again, but for an entirely different reason, Andrew felt all the breath leave his body. He was caught in fathomless blue. 

The kid was similarly frozen above Andrew as they stared into each other’s eyes. Again, the mysterious kid recovered first, flinching and scrambling off Andrew, who quickly pushed himself up as well to press his back to the stall door. They were both breathing heavily as they mirrored each other, eyeing the other cautiously. Then Andrew’s gaze drifted to the kid’s left hand where it rested next to Andrew’s fallen razor. The kid followed Andrew’s gaze, and for a moment they both stared at Andrew’s knife, still tinged with Andrew’s blood. Then the kid swallowed heavily and picked up the knife. Andrew tensed and brought his arms up defensively, but the kid just retracted the blade and offered Andrew the razor handle first.

Before he could retract the offer, Andrew snatched his knife, and then after a moment tucked it into his back pocket.

“I-I’m sorry for landing on you like that.”

Andrew looked up to see a blush creep up the kid’s face as he ducked his head to look at Andrew through the bangs of his messy hair. Andrew was caught on the uneven tone of his muddy brown hair. Was it dyed? 

“You make it a habit of spying on people in the bathroom?” Andrew asked with a raised eyebrow. Impossibly, the kid blushed even harder, making the freckles across his face more prominent. 

“No- , no, that’s not it. I was just trying to get into the library, I didn’t mean to look, but I smelled the blood so. . .,” the kid trailed off, still unable to look at Andrew directly.

Andrew tucked his bleeding arm against his stomach protectively. “Too good for the front door?” Andrew said a touch too harsh, but he was feeling vulnerable with his scars exposed like this. 

“No,  _ no _ , that’s not it. But if they don’t see me come in, they won’t wait for me to leave.” 

The kid lifted his head to look at Andrew more directly before pointedly looking at his left arm. “Doesn’t that hurt?” he asked softly. 

Andrew scoffed, “that’s the point.” He stared the kid down, challenging him to question Andrew again. But although the kid’s mouth tightened, all he said was “public bathroom’s not the most sanitary place,” unknowingly echoing Andrew’s thoughts from earlier. 

“I think I have something to clean and wrap that,” he said, and for the first time Andrew noticed the tattered duffel slung across the kid’s back. The bag landed between them as the kid dug through it before pulling out a small med kit. The kid began arranging disinfectant and bandages atop his duffel before looking back up at Andrew. He made a small, aborted gesture towards Andrew before pulling his hands back. 

“May I?” he asked. 

Andrew held his eyes for a few seconds before relenting, he recognized a peace offering when he heard it. And a public bathroom really wasn’t the best place to cut oneself open. Slowly he extended his arm to the kid, who held his wrist with two fingers, firm but not too tight. 

Careful not to touch Andrew more than necessary, the kid began to spread disinfectant over Andrew’s cuts, who hissed at the sting. And Andrew took the time to study the little peeper.

Up close Andrew could confirm that the boy’s hair  _ was  _ dyed (for some reason in the worst possible color). He could also tell that it was a home job from the patchiness of the color. Andrew had the same problem himself when he dyed his hair black almost a year ago. He still thought it was cool until his roots began to grow out and then it just looked lame. Speaking of patchy, the kid’s clothes were atrocious. Andrew had worn some hideous clothes during his time in the foster system, but none of them compared to this. The boy’s t-shirt was at least four times too big, and everything, including his sneakers, had holes. Andrew wasn’t sure if his shirt was grey or if it was that worn. 

After cleaning the wounds, the kid wrapped Andrew’s arm in gauze, again careful to touch Andrew as little as possible. He worked quickly and efficiently, almost professional. Andrew supposed that the little med kit had been in service quite a bit. 

When he was done, the kid leaned back, shifting out of Andrew’s space while he inspected the bandage, seeming satisfied. However, with nothing to occupy them, the silence stretched, growing more awkward as neither knew how to exit this situation. 

Or maybe only Andrew was thinking about exits since the kid asked once again, in a voice so soft Andrew could have almost pretended not to hear him. 

“Why do you do it?”

Andrew stayed silent, even as the air around them became uncomfortably heavy, he wasn’t going to help the kid dig himself out of this hole. The kid took a breath before looking up to meet Andrew’s eyes with surprising determination. 

“If I give you the story behind my scars, would you tell me yours?”

The kid seemed to take Andrew’s silence as agreement as he pulled down the collar of his shirt. There, on his shoulder, Andrew could see the precise shape of a hot iron, with perfect little raised circles of skin. It was an old burn, probably done years ago. The kid faltered under Andrew’s scrutiny, and for a moment his eyes darted away from Andrew’s face. But he looked back and met Andrew’s gaze, steady once more.

“My father was not a nice man, and he did a lot of shady things. One day, when I was 6, the police came to visit our house. I guess I wasn’t still enough because as soon as they left, he grabbed the iron and-.”

The kid choked off his words, but Andrew got the picture. 

“You were going to lie to me weren’t you?” 

The kid flinched at the accusation and looked a little guilty, but he didn’t try to avoid Andrew’s stare. “I was,” he admitted, ashamed. 

That last little bit of honesty tipped the scales, as Andrew glanced off to the side, no longer able to look at him. 

“I’m a foster kid. I’ve bounced around homes for as long as I could remember, and not all-, none of them were good. When I got here, it seemed like maybe for the first time I actually had a chance at a real family, with a real-, with a  _ real _ mom.” 

He stopped and started many times, but slowly he felt the truth pouring out. Like lava, it burned its way out of his throat. 

“But her son, her  _ real  _ son, doesn't quite understand personal boundaries. But I can’t give up yet, I guess this is my way of holding on.”

When he finally had the strength to look back at the kid, he found him still staring at Andrew, quiet and thoughtful. Andrew didn’t expect the relief that washed through him, at the lack of pity or judgement. Maybe this kid- 

“What’s your name?” 

Now the kid just looked confused and tilted his head at Andrew.

“Well?” Andrew pressed, “since we decided to share sob stories, I can’t really keep calling you kid.”

A quiet huff interrupted Andrew.

“What?”

The kid gave a slight smile, “that’s what  _ I’ve _ been calling you,” he said with through his stupid smile, “kid.”

Andrew scoffed, “there’s no way you’re older than me. You have to be at least two years younger than me.”

“Excuse you,” the kid said indignantly, “I’ll be 12 in January.”

“Hah! I’ve already turned 13 that makes me the oldest and  _ you _ the kid.”

The kid rolled his eyes, but he still had the utterly stupid smile that Andrew wanted to cup in his palm. No Andrew, weird thoughts, stop that. 

“So Mr. I’ll-be-12-in-January,” he said to distract himself, “what do I call you?”

The kid hesitated again before, “call me Abram.”

“I- I can’t give you the whole truth, but I can give you that.”

Andrew nodded before sticking out his unbandaged arm, “Andrew.”

The dumb smile was back as Abram shook Andrew’s hand and, “nice to meet Andrew, who-is-already-13.”

Now it was Andrew’s turn to roll his eyes and, it seemed, it was his turn to smile as well.

. . .

Now Andrew wasn’t religious in any capacity, but even he appreciated the irony of a blue-eyed boy falling from the sky (or the ceiling) right when Andrew was teetering on the edge. A mysterious boy who bandaged Andrew’s arm, accepted Andrew’s truths, and left Andrew with the silent promise of something more. It was a pipedream, but Andrew let himself indulge in the fantasy all the same as he walked home that night. He focused on that fantasy through the haze of dinner and throughout the night, even as hell crept into his bedroom. 

  
  


……………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

  
  


Abram fiddled with straps of his duffel as he sat, waiting, on the sink counter. What the fuck was he doing? Why was he waiting in a bathroom? What was he hoping for? 

These questions had run circles in Abram’s head for the past hour he had been waiting in the library bathroom. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do. His mom had picked him up this morning to take him to the tiny apartment she had managed to scrounge up. But she had left for work right afterwards, and Abram was feeling trapped and alone in the apartment. So really, the library bathroom was as good a place as any, but he didn’t even know if Andrew would come back to the library today, let alone what time he might arrive. Would he even check the bathroom? Oh god, what if Abram had scared him off last night?

Abram had just spiraled off into another round of anxious thoughts and questions, when the bathroom door burst open with the force of someone with diarrhea. But when Abram looked up, he met familiar honey gold eyes with a sense of deja vu as they stared back at him.

Andrew was in all black once again, with long sleeves pulled down over his wrists, though Abram could see his bandages peaking out. His hair was a blond halo, shining in the fluorescent light. For a second Abram thought he looked like an angel of death, finally come to take Abram’s soul. But those were stupid thoughts and he could feel his mom tugging on his hair, “don’t get distracted Abram.” 

The other boy was breathing hard and staring fixedly at Abram like he couldn’t believe he was here. Abram could relate. 

“Do you live here?”

Caught off guard, Abram didn’t process the question for a few moments, until the words finally registered and Abram felt a flush creep up his neck.

“No. . . I was waiting, but I didn’t want to wait out front. I mean because that would you know draw attention, but then I also didn’t really know where else to meet. I mean obviously I would like to not meet in a bathroom twice in a row, but I couldn’t really think of a better spot so. . .”

Abram looked down as he began to fiddle with his bag straps again and thank god his back was to the mirror because he really didn’t need to see how red he was. 

“Oh then. . . do you want to,” Abram looked up at Andrew to see him focused on the sink next to Abram’s hip, his ears the tiniest bit red, “get out of the bathroom.” Andrew trailed off with a mumble, his eyes still fixed to the sink, but he looked up at Abram’s laugh in time to see Abram give him a smile.

“Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

  
  


. . .

  
  


They ended up staying in the library since Abram didn’t want to chance being seen by his mom. Wandering the stacks, stopping at whatever piqued their interest. Andrew stopped to look at several fantasy books, and Abram found himself drawn to the astronomy section more than once. When Andrew asked, Abram told him about lying atop the car at night with his mom while she pointed out the constellations and the story behind them.

Andrew looked up quickly, “your mom?”

“Yeah, I live with her in an apartment in town.” 

Now Andrew had his full attention on Abram. “But didn’t you stay the night here last night?,” he leaned in closer to Abram, “that’s why you didn’t want to be seen entering right?”

Abram fidgeted, looking down he wondered how much he could tell Andrew. He didn’t want to lie, but the truth was just as dangerous. 

“We just moved in this morning and she had business to take care of last night, so I had to find my own place.”

Andrew seemed satisfied with his honesty and made to continue his wandering, but Abram grabbed his sleeve and he turned back around.

“Um. . . if you ever see us, my mom and I about,” Andrew’s shirt was soft, Abram liked it, “please pretend you don’t know me.” Abram cringed, that sounded bad, “um. . . it’s not like that, but my mom . . . doesn’t like it when I get friendly with other people.” Yeah, that didn’t sound much better.

Abram looked to gauge Andrew’s reaction, but Andrew just looked serious. He nodded, “okay, just as long as you don’t say that word.”

“Huh? Which word?”

“The p- word.”

“Huh, pl-?,” Andrew’s gaze grew stony, “Okay, I won’t.”

Andrew nodded once more and Abram let go of his sleeve. They continued farther down the row of books, deeper into the library. It was while they were in the biology section that Abram remembered their conversation from last night.

“What about you?”

Andrew grunted, not bothering to look up from the anatomy book he was holding. “What about your family, your birth family?” Andrew closed the book to give Abram his full attention. “I don’t have any. My birth mother gave me up as soon as I was born, so I wouldn’t know even if they exist, which they probably don’t.”

Andrew opened the book a little too aggressively, so Abram kept it light from there on. Instead, they traded minor things like favorite color or favorite food (Andrew gave Abram a disgusted look when he said his favorite food was oranges). They spent the afternoon like that, giving and taking, until Abram realized he would have to leave soon if he wanted to get home before his mom. 

“Same time tomorrow?,” Abram asked.

“Same time tomorrow,” Andrew promised with a carefully neutral expression. 

Abram didn’t care. He gave Andrew his best smile and waved as he made his way into the dark. 

  
  


……………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

  
  


Andrew was beginning to think that Abram didn’t exist outside the library. He had already convinced himself that Abram was Andrew’s ongoing hallucination that he dreamt up to deal with his shitty life. When Andrew brought this up Abram just laughed and said he wasn’t a pipedream. . . but, that’s what pipedreams say.

“But why would I exist only in the library? Wouldn’t I just follow you around as an imaginary friend?”

“No, dumbass. You exist only in the library, so no one else has to acknowledge your existence. In the library there’s no one to tell me you don’t exist.”

This just made Abram laugh even harder, and made Andrew think stupid thoughts.

But seriously, Abram was always already waiting for Andrew in the library, if Abram was real he certainly didn’t have much of a life. Also, despite Abram’s previous warning, Andrew had never seen him or his mother around town. Oakland CA was not that large of a town.

But Andrew should’ve known not to have taken this coincidence for granted. 

They were on a family grocery trip. Andrew, Cass, and  _ him _ . Cass was talking excitedly about what to make for dinner that night and upcoming plans for New Years, pausing sometimes to ask Andrew his preference on vegetables. Drake was joking around with Cass, and when she was distracted, brushing up against Andrew in ways that left him nauseous. It was a picture perfect family outing, so long as you didn’t turn the photo over to see the large, black stain on the back. 

They were entering the frozen section, when Cass suddenly turned back to Andrew.

“Andrew dear, I forgot the bread. Could you go back and get some for please?”

Andrew grit his teeth at the word, but shrugged and turned away from Cass’s pleased smile to trudge back to the bread aisle. Debating between the usual whole wheat or something different, he ignored the woman’s voice down the aisle, looking up suddenly when he heard a younger, more familiar voice.

Just down the aisle from him, standing in front the ramen noodles, was Abram, ratty clothes and all, and another woman that Andrew assumed was his mother. She had a tight grip on Abram’s arm, and Andrew couldn’t tell if she was afraid someone would come snatch him, or if she was afraid the kid might run off himself. 

Abram looked up at that moment and his eyes widened when he spotted Andrew before giving him a small smile where his mom couldn’t see. Then Abram’s gaze caught on something behind Andrew.

“AJ! What are you doing, did you get lost?”

Andrew couldn’t hide his flinch. He watched as Abram realized exactly who Drake was and a cold, steely expression came over his face. Not directed at Andrew, but at the man whose hand landed heavily on Andrew’s shoulder.

Abram’s mother gave the two of them a furtive glance before tugging Abram down the aisle away from them. Abram gave Andrew one last glance, face unreadable, before turning his back. Drake leaned down to whisper in Andrew’s ear. 

“Friend of yours? Man, those were some intense eyes.”

Andrew swallowed heavily, “no, I don’t know him.” 

He grabbed a random thing of bread before making his way back to Cass. He never realized until this moment, how desperate he was to keep Abram as his library fantasy, something that didn’t exist beyond Andrew’s imagination. Because now, he knew Abram existed in the same world as Andrew and every single one of his nightmares. And Andrew realized whatever got to him could also get to his friend. 

. . . 

Andrew was prepared for Abram’s questions when they next met at the library, so he very carefully did not react when he asked, “why don’t you leave?”

“Cass.”

“Is she worth it?”

Andrew sighed, shifting so that he was now facing Abram. The boy had a furrow between his brows from concern, and his lips were in a slight pout (that Andrew made a conscious effort not to focus on). “It’s not,” he started, “like that.”

Abram raised an eyebrow, but Andrew just rolled his eyes and continued.

“There’s no guarantee that the next house would be any better, if not worse. In fact, there’s a high probability it will be worse. I’ve been in 12 homes, and all of them have been some version of hell, this home too. There’s Drake, but there’s also Cass. I’m not going to risk losing the one good thing I’ve been given in my life just to trade one evil for another.” 

Abram nodded, quiet for once, and then in his soft voice he asked, “do you want me to kill him?”

Andrew hadn’t been able to meet Abram’s eyes during his entire speech, but now he looked up. Abram’s gaze was steady, his mouth set in a grim line and his face serious. He had meant what he said. 

“There're ways to arrange it. Then you could have just Cass.”

Andrew thought about it. Baking cookies with Cass without having Drake’s shadow looming over his shoulder. Sitting at dinner without hiding his wince as Drake’s hand gripping his knee painfully under the table. Being able to sleep peacefully at night without worrying about what was going to come. Except that’s not true, Drake wouldn’t be there physically, but Andrew knew his memory would continue to haunt Andrew. He would always linger at the edge of Andrew’s conscious and when Andrew went to sleep Drake would just visit his dreams instead. 

He thought about Cass then. Cass would cry, she would grieve the death of her son, and Andrew would be stuck mourning the memory of a dead rapist. He then also thought of Abram and Drake’s blood that would stain his hands, no matter how indirectly. Andrew wasn’t afraid of death and he didn’t shy away from murder, not with a past like his. Still, murder should be done with a purpose and a reason, and Andrew just didn’t think he was a good enough reason. 

He shook his head, and Abram accepted his answer without question. They dropped the subject, and a somber feeling sat in its place. They didn’t talk much for the rest of the day, but they did huddle closer together than normal. 

. . .

He wasn’t surprised when he felt the depression start to wrap its cold hands around his throat, but he was out of practice. It used to be something he would carry with him day after day, a constant companion. But the shock and excitement of meeting Abram had buoyed him for the past few weeks. 

Abram was a secret, untouchable by the rest of the world. When Drake visited his room at night, Andrew let himself float off to the library, focusing on Abram. The way he laughed, or hunched over a math textbook with his brow furrowed, or pointed out dirty words in the Spanish dictionary. But now harsh reality pulled Andrew away from that fantasy. It was like he was eleven all over again and realizing that there was no half-giant to tell him he was a wizard and sweep him off to a magical castle. Abram was stuck in reality, and it hurt because that meant  _ Andrew _ was stuck in a reality shared with his nightmares. 

Abram bore Andrew’s new mood with grace. When Andrew remained stony and silent, Abram chattered on distracting Andrew with a variety of different topics, ranging from deep sea life to apocalypse scenarios. He read books aloud to Andrew in different funny voices and accents. He even sneaked Andrew some candy that he was sure Abram had stolen. And when Andrew showed up with his sleeves pulled down over raw wrists, Abram just pulled out the med kit and wrapped up Andrew’s arms. There was never any judgment or irritation (or god forbid pity), Abram was just a constant companion through Andrew’s downswing until one day Andrew woke up breathing easier. 

Andrew came to grips with Abram’s reality. He was not Andrew’s escape, he was not his answer. He may have a life outside of Andrew, but he was still by Andrew’s side. And somehow it was better to have an ally, to face down demons side by side, rather than a pipedream. Andrew had forgotten what it was like to have a friend, or perhaps he’d never known.

. . .

The rain tapped against the library windows as if asking politely to be let in. The soothing sound lulled Andrew, and he gazed out the window, though there wasn’t much to see with the darkly clouded sky. A hand in front of his face pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Everything ok?,” Abram asked, more curious than concerned. “The rain is nice,” Andrew answered, “that’s why I like spring.” 

Abram laughed, “spoken as someone who’s never had to sleep in it before.”

That was a story Andrew had yet to hear, he made a mental note to ask about it later. For now, he just raised a single eyebrow.

“Oh? Then tell me wise-one, what  _ is _ your favorite season?”

Abram looked thoughtful for a bit, then, “probably fall.” Andrew prompted him to go on. “Summer is too hot, spring is too wet, and winter is too cold. Fall has the best weather for sleeping outside.”

“Your standards are so weird.”

“My standards are perfectly fine. Plus fall has great running weather.”

Andrew groaned and pushed Abram away from him, “you’re so gross.” 

“Why did you have to bring your stupid athleticism into this, you useless jock?”

Abram protested, even as he laughed at Andrew’s dramatics. “I’m not really that athletic, you’re just unathletic.”

“Maybe, but I can still beat you in arm wrestling any day.”

They had wrestled one day and Andrew had flattened Abram’s arm to the table before the boy even had a chance to struggle. Andrew had wanted to swallow the laughter spilling from his friend’s mouth, but he pushed that down into his box of weird thoughts. He had been having a lot of those recently. 

“I’m sure you’re the champion of arm wrestling.”

They settled back into silence side by side, now both listening to the steady beat of the rain. 

“School’s going to start soon,” Abram gave a noncommittal hum. 

They were pressed side by side as usual, and while Andrew couldn’t see his friend’s face, he could feel each steady breath that Abram took. He found it just as soothing as the rain. 

“What are your plans for school?”

“I don’t know.”

Andrew turned to look at him, “it depends on when mom is planning to leave.” Andrew felt a jolt run through him. Abram was still cagey about the truths he gave Andrew, often leaving out huge chunks of the real story. Andrew never pressed, he knew Abram probably had his reasons. Still, from the bits of honesty he was given, Andrew had managed to piece together that Abram and his mom were on the run from something big. Consequently, they moved  _ a lot _ , sometimes sticking around for just a day but never staying more than a few months. Andrew knew Abram would leave sometime soon (he had been very open about this), but he still didn’t think he was ready for it to happen now. He didn’t think he would ever be ready for it to happen. 

“If we’re staying for at least a month, she’ll enroll me because it’ll look suspicious not too. But if we’re not staying for too much longer, she won’t bother.” He sighed, “she hasn’t spoken either way, but. . ,” he paused, looking down at his feet where his ever present duffel lay, “I don’t think I’m ready for this to end yet.”

Andrew had always been fond of an equal exchange, so he took Abram’s honesty and gave his own in return. 

“Me neither.” 

  
  


…………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

  
  


Dinner was a quiet affair, then again, dinner was always a quiet affair. If Abram and his mom had something to talk about, it generally wasn’t anything good. So it wasn’t a surprise that his mom waited until they put everything away and she was getting ready to go to work to tell him, “I enrolled you at the local junior high.”

“You’ll start tomorrow.”

Abram knew better than to show a preference either way, so he gave some vague agreement while valiantly trying to suppress his excitement. His parting with Andrew earlier today had been a tense and somber affair. Neither one knowing if Abram would be there the next day. Abram was a little annoyed at the short notice, and he always hated being the new kid at school, but the excitement at surprising Andrew tomorrow drowned out all the negatives. 

He spotted his timetable on the table where his mom must have left it. Everything seemed pretty standard, but Abram noticed his mom had put him in the advanced math class, so she must have felt rather indulgent. He wondered if he and Andrew would share a math class. She also had enrolled him in Spanish, which was going to be a drag, but at least he wouldn’t have to put in much effort. He then wondered what language Andrew was taking, if he was taking a language. Wait. 

Every train of thought kept leading back to Andrew, like he had some gravitational pull on Abram’s thoughts. To be fair, he had been the center of Abram’s universe for the past couple of weeks, and embarrassingly enough, he was also probably Abram’s first real friend. Still, he would have to watch his attachment so that when the time came to leave, he could still walk away.

. . .

Abram was starting to remember why he hated schools. The flickering fluorescent light, the stench of sweat, and every corner packed with teachers and students. He had been here all of five minutes and already had a headache. But this time he wouldn’t hide away in a quiet hallway until just before class, because this time he was on a mission. He was lying in wait for a short, broody blonde. 

Abram spotted Andrew down the hall, digging through his locker. Someone with a sense of humor had given him the top locker and he could see his friend desperately standing on tiptoe trying to reach inside. 

Abram sniggered, thinking back to a week ago. They’d been having one of their useless arguments (the ones they have just for the sake of arguing) when Andrew had pulled out his trump card. “Because I’m older than you.”

Tired of having that used against him for the 15th time in a row, Abram had snapped back, “doesn’t mean much when I’m still taller than you.”

“You’re an inch taller,” Andrew hissed, but Abram maintained his superiority, “I could still grow.”

At his doubtful look Andrew gave up arguing to wrestle him to the floor, and Abram, too busy trying to smother his laughter, lost easily. He still won the argument, though. 

Moving quickly, but stealthily, he approached the blonde, hiding behind Andrew’s locker door to wait. He was rewarded for his effort, when Andrew slammed the locker door, and then jumped as Abram suddenly appeared. 

“Jesus, fuck, Abram,” Andrew hissed and then continued to curse at him in the face of Abram’s laughter. 

“Aww, I was hoping for a more pleasant greeting. Aren’t you happy to see me?”

Andrew’s glare relented as his irritation washed away to be replaced by a subtle, happy expression (Andrew didn’t have a lot of facial expression, but Abram had gotten adept at reading his small tells). 

“Of course I am,” his friend muttered, “but how long have you been planning that?”

“Just since last night,” he bumped Andrew’s shoulder in apology, “mom told me after dinner so I wasn’t able to give you any warning.”

“Don’t fake cry for me,I know you’re not sorry. She gave you just a few hours to prepare?”

“Yeah,” Abram laughed, “I had to buy all my notebooks and stuff during my morning run.”

Predictably, Andrew rolled his eyes and scoffed at, as he put it, Abram’s “jockness”. Still, Abram could see how relieved he was by how closely they walked together, arms brushing. It was a nice way to start the day, he thought, even in this shithole. 

The bell rang, but before Andrew could head off to his first class, Abram caught his sleeve. Pulling him in, Abram leaned close to his ear and whispered, “call me Alex at school.” Pulling back, he laughed at Andrew’s red ears (which earned him a scowl) and just in case, he jogged backwards out of Andrew’s reach. 

“See you at lunch,” he called, running off and leaving Andrew still frozen in the hallway.

. . .

Abram’s first class of the day was US history (which he had to have taken at least 3 times by now). Taking a seat in the back corner away from the door, he observed his incoming classmates. No one caught his interest, which was a good thing, but he was disappointed not to have a distraction in a class he had always found rather boring. During their foray into Europe, Abram was required to take  _ European  _ history, so now he found it incredibly boring. He still made an effort to pay attention. He wasn’t aiming for straight As, but failing grades would bring a different sort of attention. The teacher, Mr. Hayes, wasn’t too bad, keeping his lecture short and concise. He stopped at the bell and waved them on good-naturedly to their next class. 

Three classes into the day, and Abram was beginning to see some familiar faces. One of which was Samantha. Samantha was a cheerful girl who was pretty in a plain sort of way and had somehow been placed in all of Abram’s morning classes. This was apparently reason enough for Samantha to latch onto Abram’s side in 4th period chemistry. He didn’t complain for the sole reason that he needed a lab partner, anyway. 

“Hi,” she said, not even asking before plopping down in the chair next to him. Abram supposed most people wouldn’t care. Abram technically didn’t care. 

“You’re Alex, right?”

“Yes, nice to meet you. . .” he trailed off, letting her fill in the blank. He learned it gave the wrong impression if you knew a person’s name before they introduced it. 

“Samantha!”

“Right. Nice to meet you, Samantha.”

Abram hadn’t been particularly enthusiastic, but Samantha beamed as if he had given her the winning lottery ticket. Some would say that this was better than being hated, Abram didn’t really agree. 

“So, it seems like we share a lot of the same classes. Cool, right?”

“I guess.”

“Do you believe in fate?”

“No.”

And so their conversation went. 

At least Samantha respected the teacher’s request for quiet and faced the front as class began. Abram breathed a sigh of relief and savored his next hour in peace. 

The break didn’t last long as Samantha attached herself to him as they headed to lunch. She chatted to him about inane things that he pretended to understand, while searching desperately for a familiar head of blonde hair. No such luck. They entered the cafeteria without spotting Andrew.

“So my friends and I normally sit at the table over there. Your welcome to join us, I’m sure no one would mind-”

“Nope,” Abram felt someone snag the collar of his shirt from behind, “he’s eating with me.” Andrew pulled Abram after him, leaving behind a stunned Samantha. Twisting, he freed himself from Andrew’s grip to fall into step with him. 

“Hey,” Abram teased. 

“Shut up,” his friend growled back. 

“What?,” he asked, feigning innocence, “I just wanted to ask how your day was.”

Andrew’s scowl deepened, but Abram didn’t think he was actually angry, not at him. “I don’t know, how was yours?,” still Andrew’s sarcasm was out in full swing. But Abram could help but like it when he lost control. 

“God awful.”

. . .

Math was the last class of the day, which was only proper, Abram thought. He had been intentionally vague about his classes when Andrew asked for this very reason. There was no guarantee he and Andrew shared the class, but Abram wasn’t going to waste any opportunity to surprise his friend. 

He was one of the first ones in the classroom, and he took his customary seat in the back corner, perfect for watching the doorway. So he was ready as soon as Andrew walked through the door to give him his best shit-eating grin. 

His friend stopped walking, causing the person behind him to run into his back, and stared at Abram. He ignored the guy now cursing at him, and made a beeline towards Abram, “what the fuck Abram?,” he sat huffily in the seat next-door. 

“It’s Alex,” Abram protested.

“What the fuck  _ Alex _ , do you just enjoy giving me heart attacks?”

“It’s the highlight of my day,” Andrew shot him a glare.

“What are you doing here?,” Andrew asked once he calmed down a bit more. 

“I’m good at math,” Abram said with a shrug and Andrew rolled his eyes before realizing, “fuck, my best friend’s a  _ mathlete _ .”

“A what? Wait, best friend. . . ?,” Abram had never had a best friend before. He’d never allowed himself to get this close to someone while on the run, as his mom would get angry and beat him every time he got too friendly. When he had been back in Baltimore. . ., well, it had taken just one session with Lola to put any thought of friends out of his head. “Am I your best friend?”

“Well, duh, it’s not like you have much competition.”

“Just the lady who runs the ice cream parlor, right?,” Andrew gave him another heated glare, then he hesitated and seemed to fidget. Except Andrew didn’t fidget, only kept himself as still as possible, so that when your eyes swept over the room, they passed right over him. “Am I your. . . you know?”

“Duh, it’s not like you have much competition.”

He dodged Andrew’s swipe, and the teacher cleared his throat to bring their attention up front and began class.

“Dickface,” he whispered.

“Asswipe,” was the reply

. . .

“When exactly is your birthday?”

“Huh?,” Abram looked up at Andrew’s question. They were chilling out behind the school where Andrew takes them for lunch. It’s abandoned by students and teachers alike, so the spot is quiet if a bit chilly. Right now, though, Abram was more concerned with this non sequitur than with how little his thin jacket did against the cold.

“You told me it was in January, but you never said exactly when,” Andrew said, picking apart his sandwich and eating it in small chunks. Cass apparently packed him lunch every day. 

“Oh, it was yesterday, the 19th,” Andrew froze. 

“You didn’t tell me?,” Abram was a little taken aback by Andrew’s anger. He hadn’t thought it was such a big deal. 

“I mean what does it matter, I turned 12 finally, that’s all that matters.”

“We could’ve, I dunno, celebrated it or something,” Andrew said, his anger deflating as quickly as it had come.

“What in the library?,” he sighed at Andrew’s shrug, “to be honest, I don’t really like to celebrate it. The memories I have of my birthday have never been good. Even when it was ‘celebrated’, it was mostly just an excuse for my father to show off to his associates, which meant I had to be on extra good behavior. I always failed him though, and he made sure to let me know after the party had ended. Afterwards, well, mom hates anything connecting to our past, so she just pretends it doesn’t exist. I prefer just to let it pass by and add another tally to how many years I’ve survived. Besides,  _ Alex’s  _ birthday passed last September.”

Andrew glared at the mention of Alex, for some reason his friend didn’t seem to like Abram’s current identity. 

He looked back down at his mangled sandwich and Abram returned to his own school lunch. He knew Andrew was feeling the urge to repay Abram’s truth, but was having to work himself up to it. Content to wait him out, Abram picked through his sad lunch (he had eaten some awful things during his time on the run, but American school lunches always had a particular depressing quality to them). 

“I don’t actually have a birthday,” Andrew started and Abram looked back at him, “they knew I was born in November, but they didn’t know the exact day. Whoever dropped me off didn’t bother specifying, just like they didn’t bother giving me a last name. That’s why I’m Andrew Doe, like a dead body. Most foster homes just pretended I didn’t have one, not that they would have celebrated it if I did. Cass was the first to ask me how I wanted to celebrate it. She let me pick a day, November 30th, and then she let me help bake the chocolate cake. It’s when I knew I wanted to stay.”

Abram only had one question, “why the 30th?” He smothered a laugh as the tips of Andrew’s ears went red. 

“It’s Mark Twain’s birthday.”

  
  


. . . 

Abram thought they had dropped the topic, but come the end of math class and Andrew was hurriedly stuffed his things into his backpack before dashing off, leaving Abram with instructions to meet him at the library. To be honest he was a little miffed, every day since school started they had walked to the library after school. He had no idea what had prompted Andrew, the most stubborn person alive, to deviate from this norm. 

A quick glance entering the library showed that Abram had arrived first. Avoiding the librarian’s kind smile, he quickly scuttled to the chairs near the back windows that were quickly becoming their spot. 

He didn’t have long to wait as Andrew showed up not 10 minutes later, slightly out of breath but desperately trying to pretend that he wasn’t. 

Abram eyed the plastic bag in his hand suspiciously. This must be why he had rushed off so suddenly today, and Abram had a creeping suspicion of what was inside. Sure enough, Andrew pulled out: two oranges, a chocolate cupcake, one candle, and a set of matches.

“What is this,” Abram hissed as Andrew spread his stash on the table. He kept himself positioned to block the table from view. They normally didn’t have to worry about being seen, as they were far enough away from the front to be completely hidden by books. However, sometimes a librarian wandered by (probably to make sure no mice had run off with any precious books). It wasn’t a very popular library. 

“Exactly what it looks like.”

“I told you I didn’t want to celebrate my birthday.”

“We’re not celebrating your birthday, we’re celebrating the day after. It’s your unbirthday.”

“What?”

Andrew gave him a disappointed look, “you’ve never read Alice in Wonderland, have you?”

“You mean the book about the rabbits?,” Andrew looked unimpressed.

“I don’t even like cake,” Abram tried to protest but his friend just shoved the oranges towards him. 

“That’s why I got you these. The cake is for me, because I at least have a soul.”

He unwrapped the candle and stuck it in the top of the cupcake, “but candles don’t really work with oranges so I’ll let you borrow my cake.” He used one of the matches to light the candle.

“Do you want me to sing?”

“No,” Abram hissed frantically, trying to see if anyone was witnessing their unorthodox birthday party. . . or unbirthday party. 

When he looked back Andrew was staring at him expectantly, proffering the cupcake towards him. Sighing, Abram quickly leaned down and blew out the candle before they could get kicked out. Andrew then removed the candle and licked off the frosting still clinging on.

“Did you make a wish?,” he asked.

“No!”

“Ah, shame.”

Andrew peeled off the cupcake wrapper and took an obscene bite out of the cupcake. Then as Abram kept fidgeting and looking towards the exits he said, “relax and eat your oranges.”

Reluctantly Abram followed his example and slowly unpeeled his oranges, tentatively eating a piece. The more he ate the more he relaxed, relishing the tart taste of the oranges. 

When he was finished he looked up and fell back laughing at Andrew, who had somehow managed to get icing smeared all around his mouth. Not that Abram was much better, as his hands were all sticky from orange juice. Rolling his eyes, Andrew dragged them both to the bathroom to wash off. 

In retaliation for laughing at him, Andrew flicked water at Abram, who yelped and danced away. He then playfully bumped into Andrew on his way past to get paper towels, only to get more water flicked at him. 

They threw their trash away and Andrew dragged Abram off into the stacks to find a copy of Alice in Wonderland. Abram didn’t really get all the poems that Andrew seemed to love, but at least he now understood the reference. Plus Andrew was never as animated as he was explaining the plot of his favorite books, and Abram spent more time watching the way his eyes shined instead of paying attention. That is until Andrew noticed and pushed his face away, the tips of his ears going red. 

And yet, Abram’s strange day didn’t end there.

He was eating dinner with his mom, their usual silence filling the bare apartment, when she suddenly asked, “how’s school?”

He froze, was this a test? Was there something wrong? Did she think one of his father’s had infiltrated the school? But when he glanced at her, she was looking down at her dinner and there was no line of tension in her shoulders. 

Cautiously he answered, “school’s fine, nothing unusual.” He paused for a moment, “algebra’s kinda fun.”

She looked up at that with a small smile that he hadn’t seen for years, “you were always good at math.”

With that she looked back down at her dinner and the silence resumed with neither of them having anything left to say.

Maybe, he thought, picking at his dinner, there’s something in the water. 

  
  


……………………………………………………………………………………………………...

  
  


Andrew had to concentrate to not drop the soapy dish, his hands were shaking so badly. 

It was Andrew’s turn to do dishes and Drake had volunteered to help, though it was just an excuse to press up against Andrew’s back, slowly grinding into him. Andrew wanted to vomit.

“Where have you been AJ, I’ve missed you,” Andrew ignored Drake, he knew better than to answer.

“Have you been hanging out with that kid? He’s the same one we saw at the store, right?” Andrew cringed at the mention of Abram. Neither of them had been expecting Drake to be waiting outside the school gate. Andrew had stiffened at the call of ‘AJ!’ and Abram had immediately gone on the defensive. He positioned himself in front of Andrew and glared at the man who waved at them while casually leaning against the car. Ignoring the hostility, Drake jogged over to them with an easygoing smile. 

“Ma wants you back home early tonight,” he winked, “we got a special dinner tonight. Ma got that promotion at work finally.” His voice was friendly and light, and asked you to trust him. Neither of them trusted him.

Abram opened his mouth, probably to protest, but Andrew stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Abram gave him one last searching look, before nodding. Andrew didn’t look back at him after walking off, even as Drake gave an affable wave. But he knew Abram didn’t take his eyes off them until the car had driven.

Drake’s voice in his ear jerked him back to the present, “man, I’ve been thinking about those eyes.”

“Have you been fucking him too?,” Andrew froze, “Am I not enough to satisfy you that you have to and find someone else to fuck you as well? Or do you fuck him? Don’t worry AJ I can share, how about you bring him back here sometime and we can all have some fun.”

The plate slipped from Andrew’s paralyzed fingers and shattered on the ground. Drake casually stepped away as Cass came rushing in, her face full of concern.

“Andrew what happened, did you drop a dish? Are you hurt anywhere?,” she looked Andrew over, searching for any sign of injury, and stopped when she saw Andrew’s face. “Andrew, you look so pale and you’re shaking, baby, are you sick?”

“No- I. . no,” Andrew tried to protest, but Cass just tutted. 

“Don’t try to push yourself sweetie,” she said smoothing a soft hand over Andrew’s forehead, “you don’t have a fever but maybe it’s best to turn in early.”

“No- I please-,” 

“Don’t worry ma, you clean up here and I’ll make sure AJ goes to bed,” Cass gave Drake a thankful smile. 

Andrew knew better than to resist as Drake pulled him towards the stairs. “C’mon AJ I’ll make sure you’re nice and comfy.”

The next day Cass called him sick, and Drake volunteered to watch over him.

“Whole house all to ourselves, AJ.”

. . . 

Andrew knew he was outside as the harsh wind stung his face, but he registered nothing else. He guessed that it was Wednesday, but he couldn’t tell you the time nor how long he had been sitting there. He just sat hunched over, his hands gripping onto his knees so tightly he knew they would leave bruises. Not that he could bring himself to care, sometimes the pain was all that kept him anchored to reality. 

A pair of ratty sneakers came into his field of vision, and then a familiar bag dropped in front of him. He heard the sneakers turn before running off, but the bag stayed behind. He reached out to grab the strap and clutched it to his chest. He couldn’t really register why but the bag was important, it was something he needed to keep safe.

Cass had been reluctant to let Andrew go to school, but he had begged and claimed he had something important to do so she relented. Drake had frowned over her shoulder.

The shoes came back into view, and this time Abram crouched down so Andrew could see him, could see his arms full of candy. 

“Andrew,” he called softly, softer than anything Andrew had ever known, “Andrew, I brought you some candy, do you want some chocolate?”

Andrew pushed out a hand, and slowly, without touching, Abram exchanged a Twix bar for his bag. Andrew heard him murmur a thanks as he ripped into the Twix bar and stuffed the chocolate into his mouth. He felt the sugar shock his system, bringing him farther out of his head. Enough to see Abram still crouched in front of him and staring up patiently.

Abram. . . Abram was asking him a question, “Andrew, do you need me to take you home?”

No, “No!,” without thinking, he reached out to clutch the sides of Abram’s head, fingers digging into his curls, and pulled him close, “no, you can’t go there. You can never go there!”

“Ok,” he said reassuringly, “I won’t go to your house.”

But that wasn’t reassuring enough, “Do you promise? Do you promise to never go near him?”

“Who’s ‘him’?.” Abram asked like he knew, but wanted to be sure.

“Drake, you can never go near Drake.”

Abram took a breath and then, letting his hands stay at his sides, he leaned forward to genty rest his forehead against Andrew’s. “I promise I won’t go near Drake, and though I wish you’d say the same, for now all I ask is that you’ll let me treat your arms in return.”

He slowly raised his hands, keeping his eyes locked onto Andrew’s face, searching, until they hovered just above Andrew’s wrists.

“Yes or no?.” he asked.

Andrew took a shuddering breath before croaking out, “yes.” 

Abram’s hands landed gently on his wrists, not holding, just touching. Andrew realized how tightly he had been holding him and let go immediately.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“S’okay,” Abram whispered, “I’m fine.”

He guided Andrew’s hands away from his head and down to his lap. Ripping open another candy bar, he handed it to Andrew before bringing out his med kit.

“You really carry that everywhere with you?”

“Never know when you might need it.”

Abram unwrapped Andrew’s own clumsy bandages and went about the routine of disinfecting his new cuts. Andrew had already disinfected them earlier (he had been getting better at that after Abram’s passionate speech about infection, complete with gruesome details) but he let Abram be. There was comfort for both of them in the routine. 

When he was done Abram looked up at Andrew, and it took him a moment to realize he was waiting on Andrew. 

“I don’t want to go back to class,” he admitted, not that he had gone to class in the first place.

Abram just nodded, “library?”

He stood with Andrew’s affirmative, slinging his duffel and Andrew’s backpack on each shoulder, leaving Andrew to gather up the rest of the candy. Abram stood a careful distance apart, but he was still close enough to support Andrew if needed.

They began their walk to the library, the streets strangely deserted. Andrew remembered that it was the middle of the day and most people were at work or school. But for a moment he imagined that he and Abram were the last people on Earth. That it was the end of days and they were heading towards the nearest store to loot. He imagined the library as their base and that Abram had just patched up wounds Andrew got from a vicious run in with a zombie.

If there was anyone he would go back for during the apocalypse, it was Abram, and he knew his friend would do the same. 

But although it was just a daydream, Andrew forced himself to look at his friend, as they walked side-by-side, and remind himself that this was real.  _ Abram _ was real, and Andrew would be damned if he let Drake or any other demon (real or imagined) lay a hand against his friend.

. . .

Two days after Andrew’s new conviction, he noticed Abram limping. It was subtle enough that if Andrew hadn’t been paying attention, he would’ve missed it. But he saw how his friend moved ever so gingerly and the awkward way he lowered himself to sit down. The worst-case scenario flew through his mind, but Andrew dismissed it quickly for different suspicions. 

Half way through their walk to the library, Abram tripped and hit the ground hard. Andrew quickly backtracked to help him, but Abram’s legs kept buckling under him. So, Andrew grit his teeth and pulled his arm across his shoulders so that most of Abram’s weight rested on Andrew. 

He gave his friend time to pull away, but Abram just gave a breathless “thanks” and leaned against his side. Andrew adjusted Abram’s weight and they slowly resumed walking (more of an awkward shuffle) toward the library. 

And that’s when it started to rain. 

They must have looked so pathetic, dripping wet, limping towards the nearby bus stop that was thankfully empty. Andrew helped maneuver Abram so he could sink down onto one of the seats, and his friend gave a slight groan as he sat. 

“Was it your mom?”

“What? Andrew, I’m  _ fine _ -”

“Was it your mom?,” Andrew bit out, no patience for Abram’s evasions.

Abram sighed, sounding tired and resigned, “yes.”

“Why?”

Abram glared at the demanding tone, but Andrew held his ground, “the school called about my skipping the other day. She wasn’t happy.”

His skipping the other day, the day Abram had pulled Andrew back together at the back of the school, before escaping to the library. Or as the school liked to call it, skipping. Cass had gotten the call yesterday as well, and she had asked Andrew about it, concern evident in her voice. Andrew had merely shrugged and stayed quiet, so she had backed off with just a worried expression. Andrew hadn’t realized that his friend would get the same call, or that his mom might not be as forgiving. 

He recalled the day he saw his friend at the grocery store. At the time he had been too overwhelmed with shock to focus on Abram’smother, but now he remembered the tight grip she’d had on Abram’s arm and the way she had yanked her son away from Andrew and Drake. 

“How often does she hit you?”

“ _ Andrew _ ,” he rolled his eyes as Andrew’s glare, “it’s only when I mess up. She does it so I learn, so I don’t get us both killed. She does it to keep us safe-”

“No, she doesn’t,” Andrew hadn’t meant to raise his voice, but anger seethed through him and made it difficult to think, “there is no reason on earth to justify hitting your kid. That’s not what parents are supposed to do. How can you just let her? How can you stand to be with her when she abuses-”

“She keeps me safe from my father,” Abram yelled back.”

“No! She’s just killing you slower.”

“Ok, Mr. Fucking High Horse, what about your Cass?,” Abram had been sitting so for once Andrew had towered over him, but now he stood to level the playing field. 

“How can you stand to be with  _ her _ when all she does is destroy you?”

“It’s not her, Cass isn’t doing anything,” Andrew insisted.

“That’s the fucking point. Do you think she doesn’t know what goes on in her house?”

They were standing face, both breathing heavily while the sky came down around them.

“How many times a week do you wash your sheets, Andrew?,” he swallowed heavily at the accusation, “Has she never woken up in the middle of the night to see her son go in and out of your bedroom? Has she never seen how you flinch away from Drake, or how you are so desperate not to be alone with him? And any other child before you, this certainly isn’t the first time Drake has done this. Has none of her foster children ever,  _ ever _ , made even the smallest suggestion to her that her son is a monster.

She  _ knows _ what Drake is, and I know you know that. But still you stay with her. Because we can’t always choose who we love, and sometimes the people who hurt us the most are the people hardest to let go.”

Abram’s chest heaved, and his face was flushed in a way that in any other situation Andrew would call it pretty (hell, who was he kidding, even during their argument there was some dark part of his mind that called Abram pretty).

“Do you think I give you my honesty, my truths, for shits and giggles? I give them to you, because I thought you of all people might understand.”

Abram finally turned away and hoisted his duffel bag up on his shoulder before heading out back into the rain.

Andrew clenched and unclenched his fists, but before his friend could get too far he called out, “I understand.”

Abram stopped and turned. 

Andrew didn’t believe in regret, he wouldn’t apologize for speaking his thoughts, but this was the closest he could get. He strode over to where Abram stood, and looked him in the eyes, “I understand, so stop pushing yourself.” 

Abram looked at him for a moment and Andrew was afraid that it wasn’t enough, and his friend would still walk away, But then he nodded and let Andrew help him back over to the bus stop.

“I understand,” Andrew repeated once he was sitting again, “but I hate seeing you pretend you’re not hurting.”

The fire sparked in Abram’s eyes once more, “do you think I’m not hurting seeing you-.”

“I know,” he interrupted quickly before the boy could go into full rant mode again.

Slowly, like they had done the other day, he leaned his forehead against Abram’s, keeping his hands by his side, “I know.”

“So promise me that if you’re hurting you won’t lie. Promise me to tell me when you’re hurting.”

“Then,” Abram whispered, keeping this moment between them, “you promise to do the same.”

“I promise.”

“I promise.”

. . . 

Andrew was still wet by the time he made it home. 

They had waited at the bus stop until the rain let up, then Andrew walked Abram to his apartment, making Abram promise he would not go on his stupid run the next morning. Abram laughed and promised before disappearing into the building. Leaving Andrew on the sidewalk to turn away and head home, a home that was as much home as Abram’s apartment (but still more than he ever had). 

He made a poor attempt to dry his boots on the welcome mat, before stepping inside. 

“Andrew is that you,” Cass poked her head out of the kitchen and smiled when she saw Andrew. 

“Hi dear, how was school?”

“S’okay,” Cass just smiled at his vague answer.

“There’s a letter on the table for you.”


	2. Call Me Down to Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Promise me you'll be safe, and promise me you'll try to be happy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I have finally returned after the long battle. It was arduous but somehow I came out alive. I'm afraid though that I have now started a cursed tradition of posting chapters at hellish times in the morning, but I'm really lazy at editing. 
> 
> Lol, so one way I've been trying to keep myself motivated is by giving myself a word limit for each chapter so I don't knock myself out with an absolute beast of a chapter. So I try to keep my chapters under 11,000 words and chapter 2 has just blown that out of the water. But I justify to myself that it is a very important chapter.
> 
> That being said let's get on to the trigger warnings (there's a lot):
> 
> TW for referenced/implied self-harm. Although there's nothing as graphic as the first chapter, there is a repeated reference throughout to Andrew cutting himself.
> 
> TW for referenced/implied child abuse. We see a glimpse at Abram's rough childhood through his scars and there are several mentions of him being abused by his mom throughout.
> 
> TW for homophobia/homophobic language. So our boys encounter a not so nice bully who consistently calls both of them homophobic slurs and makes insulting and homophobic commentary. Andrew himself also displays some homophobia as our boy has a lot of stuff to work through. I think it was mentioned that Andrew doesn't work out his attraction to men until juvie, so that's what I'm trying to do here.
> 
> TW for referenced/implied rape. Like before both Andrew and Abram reference Drake, but Andrew also mentions his previous foster father (nothing too graphic).
> 
> !!!!!!TW!!!!! for rape. There is an onscreen rape scene, so be warned. Nothing is described in too much detail but Drake does rape Andrew onscreen, though it was a quick fade to black. It was hard for me to write/edit so I completely understand if it would be hard for you to read.
> 
> TW for referenced/implied murder. Mention of murdering Drake does happen but nothing graphic. I understand some of y'all have been waiting for this.
> 
> Now that that is all said and done, be kind to yourselves while reading. Don't be afraid to reach out if you have any questions or doubts, I'd be happy to summarize or edit any chapter you want. If I missed any triggers feel free to let me know, I don't want to hurt anyone. 
> 
> This is still unbetaded but I had a lot of fun writing it and I hope you all have fun reading it. Enjoy :)

It was a clear day, not a cloud in the sky. Still, Abram knew appearances could be deceiving, and the weather didn’t need to be overcast for something bad to happen. 

Andrew was waiting at their lunch spot, head tilted towards the sky, and his body stretched out along the ground. He looked vulnerable, something Andrew never allowed himself to be. That was the warning sign that told Abram this wasn’t just a bad day. His friend wasn’t hunched over like Abram had found him days before and instead seemed to grapple with a different sort of pain. One Abram was quite sure he was prepared for. 

Andrew had not been at his locker that morning, which was the first sign that something was wrong. He’d taken to surprising Andrew at his locker and being annoying as possible and then dashing off to class before his friend could do anything. (Andrew normally got back at him at lunch.) But this morning, Andrew hadn’t been in his locker.

Worry cramped his stomach, and as he raced off to find Andrew’s first class (English), he needed to know if Andrew was stuck at home. The other boy had told him where it was for this reason, well, “so your head doesn’t explode from worry,” had been his exact words.

Peaking through the small window in the door, he breathed a sigh of relief as he caught Andrew sitting at the back of the class, twirling a pencil, and staring at the front as if he couldn’t find the 5 paragraph essay any less interesting. 

Abram wanted to go in and talk to him, but he held himself back. Andrew didn’t want to talk to him right now, and Abram would never deny him his space. He would have to be content with knowing his friend was safe at school.

To be honest, Abram thought his friend would skip lunch, that maybe he had done something to anger him. But no, there Andrew sat, open to the sky with a dangerously blank expression. 

Abram wasn’t fooled though, he had always been good at reading anger on people. He could see it in the line of tension in their shoulders, the set of their mouth, the clench of their fists. He’d had to watch for it all his life, and he saw it in Andrew that day. All he needed to know now was who it was directed at.

Taking a breath, he casually walked over to his friend, deciding to let him initiate the topic. Leaning over Andrew just enough to block the view, he asked, “starting on your tan early?”

His friend did not reply to Abram’s teasing, not that he expected him to, and instead held up  
something for Abram to take. 

Grabbing it he realized it was a letter. He dropped his bag to the ground, before sitting down next to Andrew, thankful when his friend didn’t try to put more space between them. He read the letter while the other boy continued to watch the sky.

When he was done, he looked back up at Andrew in disbelief, “you have a brother.”

“A twin brother,” Andrew corrected.

“You have a twin brother,” Abram repeated breathlessly, “what are you going to do?”

“Tell him to fuck off.”

“Andrew!,” Abram protested, “this could be your chance to get out of that house and start a proper family.”

“What, with the family that gave me away in the first place? Sounds cozy. I’m telling him to fuck off because I don’t want him in my life and he sure as hell doesn’t want me in his.”

“What do you mean? He says he wants you,” Abram checked the letter again, “Aaron says he wants you.”

Andrew snatched the letter out of his hands, “no, what he wants is an imaginary, fantasy brother to come home and wear matching outfits with him.” His friend continued despite Abram’s disapproving look, “I’m not the brother he goes to bed dreaming about, I’m far too fucked up. If I go there he’ll just realize exactly why his mom threw me out in the first place.”

“Why? ‘Cuz she’s a piece of shit?”

“No,” Andrew growled, “because I’m unlovable.” 

That pulled Abram up short and all he could do was stare in horror at his best friend, who was now struggling to put his mask back in place. 

“Andrew,” he said, voice cracking, “Andrew, you’re not unlovable.”

“Not according to literally everyone else,” his friend growled back.

“Well fuck everyone else, they’re wrong,” Abram argued. He turned to face Andrew fully, his hands hovering in front of him, wanting to touch Andrew, to cradle his face, but knowing better than to try. 

“You’re a lier”

“I am, but I don’t lie to you,” Abram swore, “Andrew, I never lie to you.”

“But I’m broken,” Andrew whispered now curling into himself. He shrunk back against the wall, hands coming up to grip his knees. “I’m broken and everyone can see it. That’s why my own mother doesn’t want me, why Cass doesn’t love me. The only people who will ever want such a fucked up kid are people like Drake.”

“Andrew,” he whispered, heartbroken, because he now realized where all that anger was going, it was self-directed. 

“Yes or no?,” he asked, and his friend looked thrown by Abram’s non sequitur.

“Yes or no?,” he insisted, and this time, though he looked wary, Andrew replied, “yes.”

Gently, Abram took Andrew’s hand in his and guided it up under his shirt. His friend sucked in a sharp breath as his cold hand was pressed against Abram’s stomach. Abram guided Andrew’s hand across his scars to feel the shape of Abram’s past etched into his skin. From the familiar iron burn through every raised line and rough patch, he let Andrew mapped them all.

When he was done, the other boy was no longer curled in on himself, and he withdrew his hand slowly, almost reluctantly. 

“You are not unlovable,” Abram repeated, “and I can say this as one broken boy to another.” Andrew just gave a slow, small nod, but it was enough for him. 

They both resettled against the wall, side by side, with a careful inch between. It had been a tiring day, and they hadn’t even eaten lunch yet. 

Abram started digging into his cold chicken nuggets, “whatever you say, I still can’t accept him.” Abram gave the other boy an exasperated look, but Andrew continued before he could get a word in, “I’m not bringing Drake into his life.”

That was something Abram couldn’t argue with, and though he desperately wanted to offer to have Drake murdered again, Andrew had already turned him down once. “Does your foster family know?,” he asked instead.

“No,” his friend said in a firm voice, “and they never will.”

. . .

Abram didn’t like to admit that he was hovering, but he was. He had worked up the courage to ask whether Andrew had cut himself last night, but the other boy replied in the negative.

“I promised to tell you if I did.”

“I know.”

Still, Andrew was in one of his quiet moods that was somehow different from his usual quietness. His friend didn’t always respond verbally, but he made sure to always give Abram some sort of reaction. Andrew would roll his eyes, or his mouth would twitch, or he’d reach over to flick Abram’s forehead, something to tell Abram he was listening, that he was paying attention. 

But sometimes the quiet became unnatural, like they were in a vacuum between them and nothing Abram said could reach Andrew. It was like Andrew had separated himself from his body to float away, and it always left Abram feeling lonely. He grew to hate the blank look and dead eyes that hid his friend away behind a wall of apathy. 

Abram though, if anything, was adaptable. 

He quickly realized Andrew would still accept candy, as nothing could dampen his friend’s sweet tooth. He also found that although Andrew wouldn’t respond, talking still helped, that silence would only let the other boy slip farther away. Abram learned to quickly cycle through a variety of topics, in hope that one would catch Andrew’s interest. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t. 

Candy and chatter, the med kit when needed, and personal space, were the tools Abram used to get through Andrew’s quiet moods. He was never sure how much anything actually helped, but it was all he had. 

So, it wasn’t a surprise that the letter from Aaron sparked another one of his friend’s quiet moods. It left Abram on edge, but Andrew’s radio silences always left him on edge. The med kit at least hadn’t made an appearance yet, for which he was grateful. 

He tried to keep loaded on vending machine candy, passing Andrew candy bars in class, or sneaking them into the library. But this seemed a particularly stubborn silence, never getting too suffocating but lingering long past the time it should have disappeared. 

They were at the library again, curled up in their spot and engrossed in their respective books. Andrew was focused on a book about black holes, while Abram was struggling through the assigned chapter of his history textbook while nibbling on the end of his pencil. 

The tiny print and dense paragraphs were giving him a headache, so he took a break to look outside the window. It was getting dark out, and Abram knew he would have to go home soon if he wanted to be back before his mom (she still didn’t know about his daily library visits). 

Something drifted down past the window, and Abram’s eyes widened when he realized what it was. The sky was getting even darker, but it was not enough to obscure the scene outside. 

“Andrew,” he hissed, reaching out to tug on the other boy’s sleeve. 

His friend looked up, distinctly annoyed and glaring at Abram. But he just ignored his friend’s grumpiness and pointed out the window.

“It’s snowing,” he whispered, unable to contain his excitement, “snow, Andrew, snow!”

“It’s Oakland,” his friend replied, dumbfounded, which Abram would admit was justified. 

“So,” he was already shoving stuff back into his bag, “that just means we have to hurry.”

“Where are we going?”

Abram gave Andrew a look, “outside, dumbass, outside with the snow.”

They ran past the frowning face of the librarian and stumbled through the front doors. The light spilling out from the library was just enough to illuminate the soft flakes still coming down. It was a light snowfall, and most of it melted once it touched the concrete sidewalk, but there was still a thin covering over the grass and bushes. Abram laughed and lifted his hands towards the sky, as if in prayer. Andrew too looked around in wonder, raising his sleeve to look at the tiny flakes that collected there. 

Sticking his tongue out, Abram tried to catch snow in his mouth, but mostly earned an eye roll from his friend. Abandoning that, he looked around before rushing over to a small patch of grass and collecting as much snow as possible to form a small pathetic snowball. 

He spun and threw it with as much force as his friend, but the ball only made a soft thump against Andrew’s arm before falling to the ground. In return, Andrew just glared and shoved his hands into his pockets. The blonde’s nose was turning red and Abram smiled at the sight.

“I thought you’d hate snow,” Andrew said as he jogged back over to his friend. 

He shrugged, “I mean yeah it can be annoying, but I’m not sleeping outside tonight and this is light enough it will be gone by morning.”

They were standing close enough that he could see their breaths mingle in the air. Looking back up at the sky he smiled, “this kind of beauty never lasts long, so you have to appreciate it while it’s still in front of you.”

“Beautiful.”

He looked down at his friend, but instead of looking at the snow, he seemed transfixed on Abram. Abram felt himself blush. He didn’t know what that whisper had meant. Looking at Andrew, who had now turned away, he wondered if the red on Andrew’s ears was just from the cold. 

They hadn’t been outside for very long, but already he felt the snowfall seep through his clothes and onto his skin. He shivered and rubbed his hands together to warm up, but it didn’t do much. Abram heard a sigh before Andrew shrugged off his coat and shoved it into his chest. He grabbed it before it could fall, but made no move to put it on.

“What about you?”

“I, like a sensible person, am wearing a sweater,” Andrew answered, and looked accusingly at Abram’s clothes, “and not three shirts on top of each other.”

Abram blushed, and after a moment shrugged on Andrew’s coat. It was a little short on him, but wide around the shoulders, and above all it was warm. Abram couldn’t stop himself from snuggling into it and breathing a contented sigh.

Andrew looked away, his ears still red. 

“Come on,” he said, “I’ll walk you back. You need to get home before your mom, right?” Abram nodded, so Andrew turned away and started walking, leaving him to hurry and catch up. 

They walked close together, shoulder’s brushing occasionally, and steadied each other over slippery patches of ice. Abram knew he needed to get home soon, but the moment was so peaceful between them he couldn’t help but want it to never end.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

“Did you get it?,” he asked once Abram had done his awkward scuttle over to where Andrew was crouched behind the school. In response, Abram held up the pilfered cigarette and waved it in the air as if to taunt him. 

Andrew rolled his eyes. 

It was nearing the close of January, but the weather wouldn’t let go of the winter chill. He watched Abram shiver in his three shirts and squashed the urge to offer up his jacket. It was because he was feeling especially cold, Andrew reasoned, and not because the sight of Abram snuggling into his jacket was still burned into his brain. It was, but that’s not the point. 

They shielded the cigarette between them, more for the wind than fear of getting caught (their lunch spot was abandoned by students and teachers alike, and ideal for smoking stolen cigarettes). Abram fumbled with the lighter, his numb fingers making it difficult, before Andrew sighed and snatched it from him. He lit it with a quick flick and ignored Abram’s sheepish smile to light the cigarette. 

Abram let him pull the lit cigarette from his fingers and raised it to his lips for a drag. He barely took a breath before the smoke invaded his throat, and he bent over to hack up a lung. Andrew’s eyes stung and his throat felt raw, small puffs of smoke continuing to escape him as he kept hacking. 

“You’re not supposed to take that big of a drag the first time,” Abram chastised as he took the cigarette for himself. He coughed as well and his eyes watered from the burn, but he still fared much better than Andrew. Though, he was used to his mom smoking and so had probably inhaled a lot of second-hand smoke.

Andrew took a stubborn second drag only to achieve similar results to the first time. 

Abram laughed, “well at least I don’t have to worry about you becoming addicted if you can’t smoke without almost dying every time.” Andrew glared, but his friend remained annoyingly unaffected.

“Here,” he said, taking back the cigarette, “just let yourself get used to the smoke first.”

They stayed close together, shielding the tiny ember from harsh winds. Every few minutes Abram would take a small drag to keep it alight, coughing less each time. Andrew let himself breathe in the smoke, trying to adjust, while following the delicate tendrils with his eyes. 

Eventually, as it always did, his gaze landed on Abram’s face. 

Andrew was secure enough in his masculinity to admit that Abram was pretty. That seemed the best word to describe him, pretty. It was something Andrew knew objectively and was backed up by the lingering glances that followed Abram around school. 

But sometimes Abram seemed overwhelming, like a tidal wave that would leave Andrew shaken in its wake. Like when the other boy was bathed in soft light, laughing at the sky as delicate flakes fluttered down onto his stupidly long lashes. Or when he buried himself into Andrew’s jacket, the blush still high on his face. 

Sometimes things stopped seeming all that objective and started to feel like more. 

Maybe it was because for as long as he could remember touch was repulsive, something to be avoided, but from Abram it was safe. Maybe it was because he’d never really had friends before and he didn’t know how to process this unfamiliar feeling. But sometimes Andrew found himself wanting to feel the weight of Abram’s hand in his. He sought the heat and security of Abram next to him, and he wondered what the other boy’s lips would feel like all bitten and chapped. 

It was dangerous, Andrew knew wanting was dangerous. He knew the pain it could bring and how it could leave you feeling hollowed out and dead. He tried to squash these thoughts like bugs, to push them away, but sometimes he wondered if maybe in this, Abram would somehow be safe too. 

He was brought out of his thoughts by the sight of Abram’s smile and belatedly realized the cigarette had burned out. 

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Andrew scoffed, “I’m worth more than that,” and was rewarded with Abram’s soft laugh. 

The other boy ran a hand through his hair, and Andrew’s attention snagged on the motion. He was sure Abram’s hair was fried from all the dye he poured on it, but in Andrew’s imagination it was always soft.

“What color is your hair?”

His friend froze, before stubbing out the cigarette in the dirt (though it had already gone out). They didn’t play their truth game as often now, neither feeling the need to crack open the other and peer inside. They were more comfortable, had more trust between them. Hard truths and painful stories were now replaced with inside jokes and meaningless conversations. But every once in a while they cut themselves open, to show the matching hollowness. 

Abram wouldn’t meet his eyes, and Andrew felt an edge of guilt needle him, before pushing it away as useless. He had already asked his question. There was no way to undo its damage. 

“It’s red, I take after my father,” Abram spat. Abram’s father, the one who had given him that burn scar and probably more. 

He didn’t have to wait long for Abram’s return question, “why do you hate that word, the p-word?” The question hurt, as Andrew’s had, but Abram wasn’t cruel. His friend would never say a word that Andrew had asked him not to. 

“When I was seven, my foster father told me he would stop if I said it.”

“He didn’t, did he?”

“I learned early on that adults lie.”

“Fuck, Andrew,” Abram breathed, “fuck.”

“I’m no more fucked up than you are,” he reminded his friend, and got a weak smile in return. He mused, “at least I’m not a ginger,” and Abram reached over to punch him in the arm.

His friend was quiet for a moment, and Andrew wished he could see what the other boy was thinking. When Abram looked up his face was serious, and it was deadly. At least, that was the only way Andrew could describe the cold, hard look of his eyes and the grim set of his mouth. 

“If you would let me,” Abram said, voice as cold as his gaze, “I would murder every single person who hurt you.”

“That would be a lot of people,” Andrew said, but his friend remained dead serious.

He was saved from any further reply by the bell signaling the end of lunch. Casually, as if they weren’t just discussing murder, they stood up and brushed the dirt from their clothes. Throwing away the crumpled cigarette, they made their way back into the building and into the throng of people that now filled the halls. 

However, even as Andrew sat down for his next class, he kept seeing the afterimage of a small slip of a boy who was only a couple inches taller than himself, but who was determined to stand between Andrew and the rest of the world. 

Andrew didn’t know how else to describe the feeling other than warm. Abram made him warm.

. . . 

Jason Myers was the kind of stupid that scraped his way through middle school and never made it out of high school. Already he had been held back a year. Not that you could tell by looking because he looked like he should be halfway through highschool already. Hitting his massive growth spurt sometime in the 5th grade, Jason Myers was cursed to loom over the mass of pre-teens at Oakland Junior High. He had exactly three friends, was currently failing both English and Math, and had a hobby of slamming Alex Davis into lockers (or as Andrew called him, Abram). 

This pattern had been established early on in the semester, Abram’s slight stature making him stand out, even in a crowd of pre-pubescent boys. And, although Andrew had questioned Abram about it, he had been waved off with a casual air. 

“Making a scene would just be worse,” Abram said with a shrug, “the school might try to drag my mom into it and that wouldn’t be good.”

So Andrew had left him to deal with it, though that didn’t stop him from glaring at the bully from across the hall. More than once Abram had to drag him away, rolling his eyes and telling Andrew he was handling it. Though Abram’s way of handling Jason Myers was by just ignoring his very existence. He didn’t even glance at the kid as he was shoved into a wall whenever Jason passed by. 

For most bullies this would be enough for them to grow bored and move on, but Jason Myers was a special little bag of hot air and Andrew could see him growing hotter and hotter at Abram’s continued indifference.

Things had to come to a head eventually, but Andrew lamented that it had to happen in the middle of the school cafeteria.

Myers had chosen to confront them while they waited in the lunch line for Abram’s food, which was unusual. Or at least Andrew assumed it was unusual, as he normally didn’t accompany Abram to the cafeteria. But that day his class had let out early, and he had met Abram in the hallway where they got sucked into a conversation about being stranded in outer space that had followed them to the present moment. 

“But why would you just eat something if you don’t know what it is?”

“All I’m saying is if you eat it and die, what’s the difference between not eating it and dying?”

“Because there might be another-”

“Well, look who it is, it’s the fag Davis,” Andrew looked up to see Jason Myers and a few of his pathetic friends standing behind them, Abram didn’t even turn around.

“Aw, little Davis has to eat the cafeteria food cause he’s too poor for anything else.”

To be honest, Andrew wasn’t very impressed with the insults. They were vague and unimaginative and completely ignored the fact that half the school was standing in the lunch line. 

“Wow Davis, looking a little tired today. Is it hard being a pansy? Going around kissing boys and then fucking them, although I hear you’re the one who takes it up the ass,” Myers’ friend’s laugh along in support, but Andrew stiffened as Myers began to wander into more dangerous territory. The other students in the line looked on nervously. Uncomfortable with the scene, but unwilling to bring attention onto themselves. Abram’s only reaction, on the other hand, was an exasperated glance at the ceiling. 

“Is that what you’re doing with Doe here,” Abram froze at the mention of Andrew, “you two go off during lunch to do sissy stuff together? I’m surprised you haven’t caught AIDS from Davis yet, Doe. Or does it not matter anymore?” 

It was as if something in Abram had snapped. He turned slowly to face Myers, who grinned at finally getting the other boy’s attention, as he obviously hadn’t clocked in to Abram’s icy stare. 

“You know we all understand that you have a mountain of issues, but we would really appreciate it if you went to a fucking psychiatrist like a normal person instead of taking it out on everyone else.”

Myers’ face turned ugly (well, uglier) with a snarl, “my issues?”

“Yeah,” Abram barreled through as Andrew looked on with glee, “your issues, would you like me to list them?”

He didn’t wait for a reply. “We can start with your parents. Divorced aren’t they, and you left with daddy dearest, yeah I can see those mommy issues a mile away. And judging by that bruising on your face, we can pile on the daddy issues as well,” Myers touched his cheek self-consciously. 

“And you know, you call me gay, but you seem to spend a lot of time thinking about my sexual activities so how about we tack on repressed homosexuality and internalized homophobia as well. I could go on anger management problems, blah blah blah, but that would get boring. Because I know you think being pumped up on testosterone makes you cool, but we all know how much you struggle just to fit into a chair. Really, you’re just a pathetic example of a human being and being in your presence makes me want to vomit. Now, since you can’t seem to take a hint, stay the fuck away from me.”

With that Abram started tugging Andrew out of the cafeteria (despite not having his lunch) and Andrew only resisted a little so that he could take in every single stare and dropped jaw on their way out. 

“That,” he said when they got to their spot, “was amazing. You should cut people down more often.”

Abram groaned, dropping to the ground and burying his face in his hands, “I’m so screwed, if my mom finds out she’ll kill me.” He rolled around in the dirt dramatically, “I can’t believe he just called us out in front of everyone like that.”

Andrew scoffed as he plopped down next to his friend, “I can’t believe he called you gay,” he said shaking his head. He looked over to Abram and found his friend staring at him curiously.

“What?”

“I’m not,” Abram drawled, “mad that he called me gay.” Andrew blinked.

“What?”

His friend sat up, “I’m annoyed, of course,” he said, “but that’s because I’m not gay. I don’t swing at all.” Andrew blinked again. 

“I’m mad that he used it as an insult and dragged you into things. And I’m mad that he made it something to be ashamed of when it’s not.”

Andrew swallowed and stared at his friend in disbelief, “but it is.”

“It’s not,” Abram said more hotly, traces of his earlier fire returning, “he thinks that being heterosexual, which is honestly questionable, makes him better when he’s the biggest pile of shit in this school. A person’s sexuality isn’t something to be put on a scale of good or bad, it just is.”

Andrew felt something hot bubble up inside him, and it was pretty, “fuck that,” he snarled, “homosexuality is disgusting.” Abram’s lip curled as he looked at Andrew, “or are you telling me it’s all right, that my foster brother rapes me every night.”

He watched as the anger suddenly washed away from Abram’s face to be replaced by horror. 

“Andrew,” he said, voice cracking on his name, “that’s not, that’s not-,” Andrew scoffed as he floundered. But Abram took a breath and steadied himself before looking back at Andrew with a solemn look. “Drake is treating you as a sexual object, not a person. His sexual attraction doesn’t take into account your age or consent, which makes him a pedophile and a rapist, not a homosexual.”

“It’s not even comparable,” Abram spat with so much contempt that Andrew physically recoiled.

At Abram’s blunt words, he felt some of his anger settle and his friend must have seen something in his face shift, because he softened. 

“Then why,” Andrew asked, “does everyone think it’s so bad?”

“Because,” Abram answered, “society is hetero-normative and we’ve been taught to hate the abnormal.” He gazed steadily at Andrew and something in his look told Andrew that he should know, of all people, how bullshit society is. 

Andrew had nothing left to say to that. He didn’t nod, or agree, or apologize, but he also didn’t argue. Abram is the person he trusts most in the world. He’s the one who makes Andrew feel warm, who defended Andrew, and told him he was lovable.

And it’s only now with Myers’ and Abram’s words echoing through his head that he realizes how dangerous things have become. He had basked in this warmth before he knew what it was, and now ignorance was bliss because he can name this feeling and he hates it. Because here’s the thing Andrew’s not gay, but here’s the thing, as Abram sits there, his blue eyes heavy with truth, Andrew realizes he wants to kiss him.

It’s not much longer after this horrible awakening that Drake is squeezing Andrew’s neck and pressing his face into the mattress. He’s grinding against Andrew slowly. Already, he’d ripped off Andrew’s pants and the chaff of his jeans rubbed Andrew’s bare flesh raw. He’s taking things slow, where in the beginning he used to be rushed and more secretive. Now he takes his time, confident that he won’t be caught. 

Drake leans down to whisper in Andrew’s ear, and he wants to shy away, but there’s nowhere to go. “Did you see your little friend today?,” he asks, continuing on when Andrew doesn’t reply. “I’ve been wondering what it might be like to have him here with us.”

He reaches down to fondle Andrew, “he seems a little mousy, but those eyes have some spirit in them. I bet he’s a loud one, much louder than you AJ. I bet he’ll moan so pretty for us, I bet he’ll look so pretty crying and begging.”

“Fuck, I can’t stop thinking about those eyes, can you AJ?,” and fuck Andrew can’t.

He can’t stop thinking about how they look framed by long lashes, or how they crinkle around the edges when Abram smiles. Even as his foster brother rapes him he can’t stop thinking about how deep they seem when his friend stares back at him after wrapping up Andrew’s arms. He hates how those eyes haunt him.

He hates that Drake has perverted him to this point, has twisted him into this monster. 

Abram said it was okay to feel this way, but that doesn’t seem as true anymore, not when it makes Andrew like them. Like Drake. He can’t be like them, he can’t be that person to Abram or anyone else. He chants it in his head as Drake presses in, repeats it over and over as he bites his hand to keep quiet and tastes blood. 

Andrew won’t be like them, he tells himself as he clings to Abram the next day. Maybe being gay was ok for others, but it wasn’t an option for Andrew. Nothing was an option when he had this many monsters inside of him. 

He had already sworn to protect Abram from whoever would hurt him. Andrew would just have to add himself to the list.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

“Ugh, couples.”

Abram turned to smirk at his friend, “something wrong edgelord?,” he asked. It was valentines day, and school was not going to let them forget it what with all the canoodling couples and gaudy posters tacked onto the wall. Abram was most amused with the contrast Andrew’s all black ensemble made with all the bright pink decorations.

Andrew was the picture of grumpy as he slammed his locker closed, while still eyeing the couple a few rows down with distaste. To be fair, the guy looked like he was trying to vacuum his girlfriend’s face. But at least they were mostly obscured by the giant heart balloons tied to the girl’s wrist. 

“Not a fan of romance?,” Abram teased only to have Andrew’s glare turned on him, but he liked it that way.

“Not a fan of capitalist market schemes,” the blonde huffed. “I’m telling you Ab-, Alex, it’s all a marketing ploy.”

Abram trailed his friend down the hallway with a fond smile, as he listened to Andrew rant about the shallowness of Valentines day and how it was biased against the poor. He paid half attention to what Andrew was saying, and the other was used to categorize the other boy’s micro-expressions (he never was as expressive as he was mid rant).

Abram people watched as a necessity to stay alive and one step ahead of his father. But watching Andrew was fast becoming his favorite hobby.

“Got any more holidays you wish to abolish?,” he asked once his friend seemed to reach an end, “St Patrick’s day, 4th of July, Halloween?”

Andrew mumbled something, and Abram leaned in closer. “What did you say?,” he asked, though he could guess from Andrew’s red ears.

“I said Halloween could stay,” the other boy mumbled again, this time a bit louder. Abram grinned and shook his head at Andrew’s predictable sweet tooth.

He’d been worried about his friend after the encounter with Jason Myers (when is he not worried though). He hated how much Drake and Andrew’s other abusers had twisted Andrew’s world view and cast so much of it in dark shadow. It made him sick to know that he had been the first person to call Drake the monster that he is and tell Andrew it wasn’t ok. He knew firsthand how people could be willfully blind, but while Abram had been born into hell and couldn’t be saved anyway, Andrew had been pulled in by greedy hands while others just watched him fall. 

Since the incident, though, Andrew had been more distant, physically at least. He talked to Abram the same, and they walked to the library as usual, but the distance between them was more defined. No longer would they accidentally brush shoulders, as now Andrew was very careful to refrain from contact of any kind, and Abram would never cross any boundary that Andrew set. 

He told himself it was a good thing for when Abram would eventually have to leave, but he had always been good at spotting a lie, even his own.

. . . 

He got the idea halfway through lunch the next day, but decided to wait until math to tell Andrew.

Taking an opportunity when the teacher was turned to the board, Abram tossed a folded piece of paper onto his friend’s desk. Andrew cut him a quick glance before reading, you busy after this? 

He looked back with a deadpan stare that met Abram’s shit-eating grin, before turning and writing a reply. He tossed the paperback not bothering to re-fold it and Abram scrambled to catch it. He smoothed out the paper.

Yes, very.

Now it was his turn to glare and Andrew just rolled his eyes before shaking his head, which Abram interpreted as, you’re an idiot, of course I’m free. Satisfied, he settled back in his chair, but his bouncing leg betrayed his impatience for the end of class. 

After the bell rang he practically vibrated as he waited for Andrew to gather his stuff, and he swore his friend was walking purposefully slow. When they at last got outside Abram alternated between jogging impatiently and walking backwards as he led Andrew through the streets. His friend frowned as they missed the usual turn for the library, but made no comment.

When they reached the grocery store Abram almost had to almost physically restrain himself from grabbing Andrew’s hand. He didn’t restrain himself from striking a dramatic pose when they were finally in front of the clearance aisle.

“Ta da,” he waved his hands dramatically, “clearance chocolate.”

Andrew stood frozen in front of him not giving anything away and slowly Abram began to feel self-conscious. Maybe he misread Andrew, maybe this wasn’t such a marvellous idea. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. 

“I heard they mark them down the day after, and you have to get there early before everything good is taken. So I thought we should take the opportunity to stock up.”

Finally, finally, after a long moment his friend snorted and Abram felt a rush of relief flow through him. “What are you, my enabler?,” Andrew asked, laughter just barely hidden beneath his words.

“No,” he corrected, “I’m your friend. C’mon I’ll help you carry it all.” He reached up to start grabbing boxes off the shelf as Andrew did the same.

They left the store with a shit ton of chocolate.

A shit ton of chocolate that they barely managed to sneak in the library. They squatted back in their corner and piled their contraband into a small tower that Andrew inhaled at an alarming rate. 

He fed some orange creams to Abram, who declared them not bad, and he even tried some of the sweeter ones just to hear his friend laugh at his scrunched-up face. Laughing with his friend about their chocolate stained faces and their sticky hands. Abram felt more content in that moment than he had in weeks. It didn’t matter if Andrew decided to set new boundaries, as long as they could still have this. Still, he released a breath he didn’t even know he was holding as Andrew nudged him playfully while they washed up side by side.

They would be all right.

Nothing in this world was okay, but they would be all right.

. . . 

Abram stared at the neon green paper tacked onto the wall. His mother’s voice in his head demanded to turn away and move on, but a deep aching in his chest kept him rooted.

Oakland Junior High didn’t have its own exy team, so the rec sports league had taken to putting flyers up around the school. 

No previous experience required, Abram laughed to himself with black humor.

Abram had experience, but it didn’t matter because Alex didn’t. Alex didn’t play exy, he wasn’t even interested. If asked, he said he didn’t mind soccer or running, but not exy. 

“Go on, keep staring, maybe it’ll burst into flames.”

He looked over his shoulder to see Andrew watching him with a rather judgemental look. 

“You like exy?,” Andrew snorted. 

“That should be my line, idiot.”

“Why don’t you try out,” his friend asked, but Abram’s mother would never allow it and he told Andrew so. Everything connecting them to their past was cut off and left in a pool of blood. Andrew just rolled his eyes and muttered, “so dramatic,” before letting him be.

He followed the blonde down the usual roads towards the library. In all truth, his mother would never allow this either, but Abram had a habit of making dumb decisions. He knew he was far too attached to Andrew to be good for either of them, but this was one tie he couldn’t bring himself to severe. 

Jogging he caught up to his friend, so that they were walking side by side. 

“So,” Andrew started, “I’m guessing you used to play.” 

He side eyed his friend before deciding to reply, “yeah, it got me out of the house.” He didn’t feel a need to explain that his father was the reason he couldn’t be in the house. It was implicit.

“But you liked it, right?,” Abram wished he could see the other boy’s expression, but Andrew kept his face turned away. Andrew wasn’t the type to keep up a topic that didn’t interest him, and he certainly wouldn’t ask Abram’s opinion on it.

“Yeah,” he replied slowly. An idea came to him and he grinned, knocking lightly into his friend’s shoulder. “You should try it someday, it’s fun.”

Immediately, Andrew made that familiar disgusted face that always made Abram laugh, “ew, no. I hate running.”

“You could be goalie,” Abram teased, “all you have to do is stand in a box.” He laughed again as he watched his friend’s face shift into something more thoughtful at the idea of standing still before eventually shaking his head.

Realizing Andrew had exhausted his tolerance of the topic, Abram moved onto to something else. Like deep-sea creatures and whether they could evolve to have a higher level of intelligence. 

The next day Andrew sat down in their lunch spot and announced, “The Bulldogs lost to the Sirens last night.” Abram stopped mid-chew to study his friend, who looked as indifferent as always. But Abram remembered that Andrew’s foster father preferred baseball, so Andrew would have had to ask specifically for exy.

A smile spread across his face. Taking the invitation for what it was, Abram launched into the stats for both teams and Andrew recited plays (with surprising detail) and let Abram talk about strategies. This went on for a while until Andrew slapped a hand over his mouth and said, “eat now, obsess later.”

Abram happily ate his lunch and Andrew rewarded him with 20 more minutes of exy talk before he banned it until tomorrow. Abram could wait till tomorrow, he’d waited years to talk about exy. It was just one more mistake to make, and really he should be miles away from all this, but tomorrow there would be exy and right now there was Andrew.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Exy was becoming a problem. And one Andrew had brought on himself.

Not only could Abram go on about his stupid sport for hours until Andrew finally put a hand over his mouth, but it was making it very hard for Andrew to follow through on his promise. Every time his friend opened his mouth to continue extolling the virtues of exy, his eyes shone and his cheeks became flushed. It made Andrew want to grab him by the collar of his oversized tee and kiss him. 

It was only Andrew’s stubborn will that kept him from falling over the edge. But each day the want would drive him crazy until he numbed it with hour long cold showers. He had long learned how to shut himself off from emotions so that nothing his foster families did would hurt him. It was how he had, so far, outlasted Drake, by making himself numb to the pain.

Somehow, though, Abram had crashed through that barrier as if it were tissue paper and Andrew hadn’t yet managed to shut him out. It made him feel both vulnerable and dangerous, leaving Abram in the crosshairs. So every day Andrew battled himself to stop the urges and wants that reached for his friend with the same greedy hands that had reached for Andrew.

He had taken to repeating mantras inside his head, I will not be like them I will not be like them I will not be like them, he kept himself more distanced from Abram, and when all else failed he took the same razor that kept him grounded to Cass and cut more reminders into his skin. The last was almost counterproductive as it always led to a worried Abram kneeling in front of him as he gently wrapped up Andrew’s arms, while worrying his lip between his teeth. 

It was a constant struggle that broke Andrew down as much as Abram built him back up again. A vicious cycle.

He was reciting one of those mantras right now as he waited at their lunch spot, even though school was long over.

Abram had informed that a teacher had asked to speak to him after school before giving his best puppy dog eyes as he asked Andrew to wait. Without the endurance he had built up over the weeks, Andrew would have been a melted pile of goo on the floor. As it was, he was currently using all his focus to pull himself back together before Abram arrived.

Maybe that’s why he didn’t hear the group approach.

“Hey faggot,” Andrew flinched but didn’t look in Myers’ direction, ‘don’t react’ was one of the first lessons he’d learned. Right after ‘adults lie’, and ‘keep quiet’.

“Hey midget, I’m talking to you,” they were close enough now that Andrew moved into a defensive position. 

Abram and Andrew had, in unspoken agreement, decided to completely avoid Myers when possible. So far the plan had been a success, but it was only a matter of time before the bully came looking for them. 

There were three of them, big where Andrew was small, as they cornered him into the wall at his back. Grins stretched across cruel faces and made the hair at the back of Andrew’s neck prickle. 

“Waiting for your boyfriend, fag? He getting you off after school?,” Myers leaned in closer, “let me ask a question, do you take it or does he?”

Andrew sneered, “you know I think Alex might have a point about your repressed homosexuality, you seem awfully interested.” He watched with part glee and part dread as Myers’ face twisted into a snarl. Abram was rubbing off on him. He should know better than to talk back. 

He was proven right when Myers took a fistful of his collar and lifted Andrew straight off the ground. 

“You know,” he said, breathing hot breath into Andrew’s face, “I was going to wait until your boyfriend got here to start the party, but you really piss me off.” He punctuated that with a fist to Andrew’s stomach before shoving Andrew hard into the wall and then throwing him to the ground. 

A different pair of hands grabbed him and restrained him, and Andrew felt his stomach heave at the feeling. But all he could do was curl away as best he could as punches began to rain down on him. Vaguely he registered laughter in the background, but he couldn’t pinpoint when it was suddenly choked off. 

Something flew at Myers and tackled him to the ground. The boy restraining Andrew let go in surprise. Using that opportunity Andrew shoved him to the ground and whirled around to see the fight going on just in front of him. 

Two boys were rolling through the dirt, one large and bulky and the other small and scrappy. Myers was getting a lot of hard, heavy hits, but Abram (cause that’s who the idiot was) was aiming for the soft spots. He knew where to cause the most damage and how to fight dirty, and those were the only two things keeping him from going under. 

Andrew heard the boy he knocked down try to get up, so he quickly turned and began to kick him back to the ground, not afraid to aim for a few genitals. He didn’t even know where the third boy, the one who had been laughing, had crawled off too. 

When he looked back Myers and Abram were still a mess of limbs. Andrew saw the flash of something metal, and then Myers let out a choked scream. Abram rolled off him and ran straight at Andrew. 

“Go, now,” he shouted, grabbing on to Andrew’s sleeve and tugging him along. 

They ran, not looking back, but anxiously listening for the sound of footsteps following. They ran until Andrew broke free and stumbled off into the grass, because one more step and he was going to be vomiting into the bushes. 

He collapsed to the ground, his heart thumping against his chest as adrenaline pumped through his body. Abram’s head appeared, blocking his view of the sky. The other boy had sweat running down his face, though he was nowhere near as out of breath as Andrew.

His hair was a mess from the fight and subsequent run, and a flush colored his cheeks, making his freckles more prominent. From Andrew’s view, his eyes looked like pieces of the sky shining through and his mouth was parted in a pant. He was so fucking beautiful it hurt. 

“Andrew? Andrew?,” he ignored Abram’s panicked voice even as he heard the boy kneel down next to him, still hovering. 

“Andrew, you’re crying. Why are you crying?,” so that what was running down his face, he thought it was just sweat. He opened his eyes, and a sob escaped him at the sight of Abram’s worried face.

How dare he just jump in to defend Andrew when he knew the kind of consequences he would face. How dare he look so beautiful even after running for his life. How dare he still be worried about Andrew now, even when he should be more concerned about his mom finding out about the fight. How dare he still respect Andrew’s boundaries despite being worried. How dare he leave Andrew so wrecked with feeling, when all Andrew wants is to become numb. 

Another sob breaks loose, wracking his chest. He’s full on crying now, with snot and everything, and Abram has moved onto full on panic mode. Stil without touching Andrew, he keeps asking, “what’s the matter? Are you hurt? What’s wrong?”

Finally, through tears and painful sobbing, he says, “I want- I want-.” Abram leans forward, his eyebrows doing that little furrow thing when he’s concerned.

“I want to kiss you.”

He waited for a moment, but Abram didn’t recoil in disgust as he hoped. It would have been so much easier to leave these feelings behind if he had. Instead, though, Abram said nothing and merely dug out a water bottle from his duffle bag.

He handed it over to Andrew, who took it greedily, not realizing how thirsty he was until this moment. He chugged about half of it, before reluctantly handing it back to Abram. His friend made no move to take it back, instead he stared intently at Andrew’s face.

Abram waited until Andrew was looking back before asking in a soft voice, “is it so bad to want to kiss me?”

“Yes!,” Andrew exclaimed and then nearly recoiled at the flash of hurt that moved across the other boy’s face. “I can’t-, I can’t-,” he floundered.

He saw Abram open his mouth and plowed on through before his friend could speak, “I know what you said about homosexuality, and maybe that shit’s okay for everybody else, but I can’t.”

“There’s so much messed up here,” he waved to indicate his head, “that I can’t trust myself to not hurt you, to not be like them.” Andrew took a shuddering breath. “But it’s so fucking difficult to hold back when you look like that,” he flapped his hand vaguely in Abram’s direction.

Abram still hadn’t looked away, and his clear blue eyes stripped away Andrew’s defenses to pierce the soft truth below. He covered his face with hands when it became too unbearable. The adrenaline and shock had loosened his tongue and now all he wanted to do was hide himself away in his bedroom. Or, scratch that, he’d heard Canada was nice. Maybe he’d move there, far away from mysterious, blue-eyed boys that dissolve his inhibitions. 

The silence had become painfully awkward now, and Andrew made a desperate attempt to clear it away. “Just forge-”

“Ask me then.” 

“What?,” he stared, dumbfounded, at Abram, who’s face had resolved into one of determination.

“You’re afraid of hurting me, right? Of becoming like them?,” slowly Andrew nodded at Abram’s questions. “Then ask me,” his friend said, “that’s not something they would do, that’s not something Drake would do.”

His friend grew impatient at Andrew’s hesitance, “ask me,” he demanded once more. 

Andrew gulped and he couldn’t help but stare at Abram’s lips, chapped and bitten, “can I-, can I kiss you?”

“Yes!,” Abram practically yelled, startling Andrew.

Andrew snarled. “You don’t mean that,” he accused, “you’re lying.”

“Fuck you,” the other boy snapped right back, now fully in Andrew’s face. “I may be a liar but not to you. You trust me to tell you no, and I trust you to respect it. Now fucking kiss me you asshole.”

Andrew growled, and taking a fistful of Abram’s collar, smashed his face against the idiot’s.

It wasn’t a great kiss. It was off center, as Andrew hadn’t really aimed, and their noses were mushed together. He was frozen. He didn’t know what to do next and the longer they sat there unmoving, the more awkward this kiss was becoming. Fuck, he was such an idiot. If he had known he would be kissing his best friend, he might have looked up kissing techniques or something.

He felt something light flutter against his cheeks and with a start realized it was Abram’s eyelashes. That fucker, he was only just closing his eyes? 

Andrew felt a renewed determination as he released Abram’s collar and slid his hand up to cup his friend’s neck. He tilted his head to give them a slightly better angle and pressed forward until the other boy broke away with a gasp. The flush on his friend’s face was satisfying and the butterflies in Andrew’s stomach were shouting for more.

Abram beat him to it though, surging forward to capture Andrew’s lips. He caught the other boy’s hand that had come up and squeezed in a silent ‘no’ that he knew had been heard when Abram squeezed back.

“Damn kids who said you could make out in the middle of the street?”

They both jerked away at the irate voice. Andrew looked up to see a middle-aged woman plodding by with a disgusted look. Andrew watched in fascination as Abram’s eyes went wide and his face turned bright red. Scrambling up, they quickly righted their clothing and bags before doing an awkward shuffle back on the sidewalk. 

Andrew was too busy not looking at his friend to see his expression, but he was sure they both had matching guilty expressions. The kiss was worth it though, when a second later he felt Abram reach out to fumble with Andrew’s hand. Once their hands were fitted snugly together, they started heading towards their usual haunt. 

They walked stiffly, looking straight ahead and resolutely ignoring the joined hands between them. At least, until Abram suddenly burst out laughing before tripping over a rock that sent him stumbling into Andrew. As if it was infectious, Andrew felt laughter bubble up out of him as well, and he jostled back into Abram. Which prompted a brief shoving match until they were satisfied walking shoulder pressed to shoulder.

Not once did their hands let go.

. . .

Andrew knew he had low standards, it came with the shitty life, but this had to be the happiest he had ever been. He had a mom who would pack him lunch and kiss him on the forehead every morning. A few of Drake’s friends were in town, so his foster brother was out most nights, and every day after school he got to hold hands with his crush. 

Let it be said that Andrew Doe could admit to having a crush, even if said crush teased him mercilessly about it. 

“You like me,” Abram teased, causing Andrew to roll his eyes, “you like like me. You want to hold my hand.”

“First of all,” he had responded, “that was a cringy thing to say and I hope you never repeat yourself,” Abram laughed. “Second of all, you’re holding my hand right now so that means you like like me too.”

They didn’t do much during school, though. Myers may have been more wary around them once Abram had pulled a knife on him, but there was no way he was the only homophobe on campus. They stuck to sitting close together during lunch and passing notes full of snarky comments. 

Not that they did much once they were in the library’s safety either. Andrew was still mapping out his boundaries, so their progress was slow. When they kissed, he kept having to pull back and check on Abram to make sure it was still a yes. Abram never made it seem like a burden. He calmly answered Andrew’s “yes or no” and never pushed farther than what Andrew gave him. It made Andrew feel safe, safer than he ever had before, and he just hoped he could give the same to his friend. 

“Sometimes I just feel like he broke me,” he admitted to Abram one drizzly afternoon. They were curled up together on the couch in their corner of the library. Their hands were clasped together between them, and Abram had scrunched himself up so he could put his head on Andrew’s shoulder. The other boy’s hair tickled his nose, and he could feel Abram’s chest expand with each breath. “I just feel like he, they, are the reason I like guys. And if they made me like guys, what if they made me like them?”

Abram was quiet for a moment, thinking about Andrew’s confession before he responded, “but if that were true, wouldn’t that make you attracted to Drake as well?” Andrew recoiled, forcing Abram to sit up. Though the other boy merely took the opportunity to look Andrew in the face. 

“I used to think that my mom was the reason I was never attracted to anybody,” he ignored Andrew’s glare at the mention of his mom and went on, “whenever I slowed the slightest bit of interest she would tell me off and yank my hair.”

“I’ve tried to kiss a couple of girls, to see what the hype was about, and each time my mom found out and beat me for it.” Abram self-consciously rubbed at his arm as he stared off into space remembering, “she broke my arm for it once, and I always assumed that that’s why I never looked at somebody like that. But kissing you makes me remember, I didn’t like kissing those girls in the first place. It was wet and boring, I just did it because I was curious.” 

“And kissing those girls,” he paused to give Andrew a soft smile, the melted Andrew from the inside like ice cream on a summery day, “was nothing like kissing you.”

Abram picked up Andrew’s hand once more, and he marveled at the gentleness at which the other boy cradled it, how he softly traced the lines on Andrew’s palm. He slowly brought the hand to his mouth and kissed the palm, “the only thing those men made you was a survivor.”

“But how-,” Andrew’s voice cracked, “how can you still want to be okay with this when I’m- I’m-,” he floundered for the right word, “when I have so much baggage?”

By now Abram was visibly distressed, “that should be my question.” He clutched more tightly at Andrew’s hand, “how can you still be okay with this after everything they’ve put you through, are still doing to you.” He looked down to where Andrew’s hand was still cradled in his. “How can you trust me not to hurt you even more?,” Abram asked, barely above a whisper, as if he was afraid the question would shatter the ‘this’ they shared.

Andrew took a breath and then with a firm voice, “no.” Abram immediately recoiled, dropping Andrew’s hand like it was made of fire and scooting back to give Andrew room. 

“That’s how,” Andrew replied, reaching out to take back the other boy’s hand and pull him close once more, “you trust me to tell you no, and I trust you to respect it.” Abram glared at his words being turned against him, but he eventually nodded and curled back against him. 

Andrew ran a hand through his friend’s dyed hair and it felt just as fried as he thought it would be, but Abram made a small contented noise and snuggled in closer. Suddenly Andrew understood that this was why Abram loved combing through Andrew’s hair. It felt incredibly exhilarating, the amount of trust his friend was giving him. 

When Abram did it he sort of softly scratched at Andrew’s scalp that made him feel so relaxed he often fell asleep in Abram’s lap. It had become a problem one time when Andrew hadn’t woken up in time and his friend had been late getting home. The other boy was so sore after the beating his mother gave him that Andrew had just walked him straight to his apartment for a week. 

Abram had admitted that he hadn’t wanted to wake Andrew, so he had yelled at his friend and revoke all head-scratching privileges until the boy promised to wake Andrew before it got too late.

Now, looking down and watching his friend grumble in his sleep, he understood the feeling of wanting to sit here for hours on end. But he would never willingly get Abram in trouble, so regretfully he called the other boy’s name until he opened his eyes. Groggily his friend moved off his shoulder and peered around in confusion, Andrew had felt the same the first time he had woken up on Abram’s lap.

Somehow he ushered the still sleepy Abram out of the library. He wished he had more time to catalogue all the adorable little quirks of sleepy Abram, but he had to get the other boy home before his mom. His friend had fully woken up by the time they reached his apartment, and he turned back to Andrew before going up. With a little smirk, he brought up Andrew’s hand and pressed a second small kiss to the palm, before turning tail and fleeing up the stairs like the rabbit he was. Andrew was sure his red face could be seen from down the street.

He waited until the light turned on in the window of Abram’s apartment before turning his feet in the direction of his house. All the way back he had to fight down a smile.

. . . 

“All I’m saying is that if aliens existed in our part of the universe, then why haven’t they tried to contact us?”

“I mean who would, we’re kind of a shitty planet.”

“But we’re abundant in natural resources, there’s no reason they couldn’t just wipe out humans and then take what they needed.”

“That would be an apocalypse.”

“So?” 

They stopped in front of Abram’s apartment and Andrew took the chance to flick his dumbass friend’s forehead.

“Idiot, because we said no apocalypse scenarios, we’re talking conspiracy theories,” Abram grumbled, but quickly subsided.

Every time they did this, it got harder to leave Abram behind, and he could tell the other boy felt the same. His friend gave him a warm smile, and squeezed Andrew’s hand, “I have to go, my mom will be home soon.”

He turned to leave, but in a flash of bravery Andrew stopped him, “yes or no?” Abram gave him a searching look and then with a slight smile said, “yes.” In a split second Andrew leaned in and placed a chase kiss on his friend’s mouth.

Quickly, he released Abram and took a step back, embarrassed at his own daring. He looked back up when he didn’t hear the telltale footsteps walking away and found the other boy still staring at him, star-struck.

A laugh escaped Andrew, and he pushed a dazed Abram towards the apartment building, “go before your mom comes,” he insisted. With one last blushing smile, Abram disappeared inside the building. 

By now Andrew knew the exact number of seconds it took for his friend to get up the stairs and turn on the light. Still, he waited for that soft glow to light up the window, before turning on his heel and heading back. 

If Andrew was a skipping person he would have skipped, but he was not, so he calmly walked home. Kicking off his shoes, he thudded upstairs to his room. He threw open the door and froze. There, standing with his back to Andrew, was Drake. 

He turned at the sound of the door, “AJ,” he said upon seeing Andrew giving him a sick smile. In his hand he was holding something that he waved at Andrew, “got a letter for you.” Catching a glimpse of the name on the envelope, Andrew lunged for the letter, “that’s mine,” but Drake jerked it out of reach.

Grabbing a fistful of Andrew’s collar, Drake threw him bodily onto the bed and his head smacked hard against the wall. “Now you see,” his foster brother started climbing on top of Andrew, “I had just a little peek inside, to see if it was your little boyfriend writing you, but instead I found something far more interesting.” He paused to nuzzle into Andrew’s neck, and though he tried to recoil from the feeling, the man’s grip was iron. “AJ, you didn’t tell me you had a brother, a twin brother.”

Andrew continued to struggle in his grasp, “it’s nothing, I told him to fuck off.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Drake purred in his ear, “I’ve already talked it over with ma. She thinks a camping trip would be a wonderful idea. Just us boys in the woods, you know how it is, nothing but trees, you, me, and Aaron.”

Andrew must have looked like a wild animal, thrashing in a desperate attempt to gain some control of the situation. He could feel everything come crashing down around him. Every small piece of control he had horded for himself was being ripped away by the man who still held him down on the bed. 

Drake gave one last self-satisfied laugh, the laugh of a man who knew he had destroyed Andrew and had taken pleasure in doing it. The laughter followed him out the door and left Andrew alone in the room with nothing but the broken pieces of his life. 

Andrew felt the familiar helplessness overtake him as it urged him to take up the razor and regain some sort of control. But, fuck, was Andrew tired of being helpless. He was tired, and he was angry. Fuck, he was angry for being helpless, angry at the ones who made him helpless. And once he realized he was angry, he was it only seemed to strengthen that boiling rage. 

He was done just accepting this shitty life as normal. Andrew had played along with Drake’s sick game for long enough, he wasn’t going to let Aaron become a puppet too. Something in Andrew snapped that night, something that had held him back before. After all, cornered animals had no reservations left.

The next day at lunch he confronted his friend with such intensity, that Abram’s smile vaporized in an instant, to be replaced by concern. 

“Is your offer still good?,” he demanded, but Abram only looked confused.

“What offer?”

“The offer to kill Drake,” Andrew said. 

The look that replaced Abram’s confusion belonged to that of a stone-cold killer. At any other time Andrew would have been almost scared, but now it was just reassuring. Abram gave him a solemn nod, “I can get it done.”

Andrew hesitated, the other boy didn’t need a reason, but Andrew felt that if he was going to kill Drake, he should know why he was doing it. “He found out about Aaron, but I won’t let him destroy my brother’s life like he’s done to mine.”

It surprised him to watch the icy look in Abram’s eyes morph into something more painful, more resigned. His friend breathed a sigh before hovering his hands near Andrew’s face. Andrew answered the unspoken question with a nod, and slowly Abram cupped his face and brought Andrew’s forehead to rest against his own. 

“I’ll do this for you, but you have something for me too,” Andrew nodded again, unsurprised, deals were the norm for them. “Promise me you’ll be safe,” his friend said with a pointed look at Andrew’s forearms, “and promise me you’ll try to be happy.”

It wasn’t what Andrew expected, and he didn’t like how much this sounded like a goodbye but he asked anyway, “yes or no?” At Abram’s ‘yes’ he leaned in just the slightest bit farther to place a kiss on the other boy’s lips.

“I promise.” 

He had no other option, Drake had to go. Plus, it was worth the relieved smile on Abram’s face. A smile that remained a touch too sad for Andrew’s taste, but he had already made his promise and that was something he would never take back.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Abram came into the dingy kitchen to see his mom surrounded by documents, sorting and planning. It was almost time to go. Something that broke his heart but also made what came next a little easier.

“Mom,” he said, catching her attention.

He knew how much his disappearance would hurt Andrew, but he could do this one last thing to make it a little better. He could help give Andrew a future, something Abram could never have. One day Andrew would look back on Abram as just a memory, a sad memory, but that was all Abram could ever be. 

His mom was watching him with a calculative, but attentive look. “There’s someone we need to take care of.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I realize some of you may hate me for what I'm doing to the boys but at least Drake is being murdered right? Right? Man, I'm just glad this chapter ended under 12,000. As you've probably noticed I finally fixed the chapter numbers, I've already got plenty of ideas for chapter 3 but like always it may take a hot minute. And one last thing: 
> 
> Thank you for reading <3


	3. The Absence of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drake is dead, Abram’s gone.
> 
> Drake is dead, Abram’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLLLOOOO!!!! Lol, it's been a while. So I am finally posting this, but I do have to warn you that there is absolutely NO soft, baby Andreil fluff. There is however long-distance, dumbass, gay pining, for all those people who like that. So as you can probably tell, this chapter is shorter and so will the next couple, probably up to chapter 8. 
> 
> For now most of the plot is going to be focused on Andrew's side of things with Abram going off and being the usual idiot. I was debating just cutting those chapters and skipping to the reunion, but I realized one of the things I wanted to write was the developing relationship between Andrew and his family. That being said the chapters will be significantly shorter, which should mean that I can get them out faster, but one can never tell. I will admit that I had a hard time finding the motivation to finish this chapter, as I yearn for the fluff. So I will say that any comments or kudos you leave behind do wonders to give me that boost. 
> 
> And on to the triggers, at least this will be a pretty tame chapter.
> 
> TW for implied/referenced rape: There is some talk about Drake being a rapist but its sparse, and non-specific. There's also some discussion of Drake's interest in Abram and how that was used against Andrew.  
> TW for implied/referenced murder: Finally Drake has been killed, and it's pretty blunt that Mary had him assassinated. There are a few details of his death but nothing graphic.   
> TW for child abuse: This goes for both Abram and Aaron. It's discussed how both of their moms have been abusing them, and for each, there's a scene where their mom hits them. There's nothing too violent, however.   
> TW for panic attack: Abram has a full-blown panic attack. 
> 
> I think that's it for triggers. But there is also some pickpocketing and drunk driving (don't do that kids). Also, I apologize for some derogatory comments on Christianity. I don't mean to insult or devalue anybody's religion. If anyone has any concerns or wants an edited version feel free to contact me. 
> 
> I actually realized you can't really contact the author unless you leave a comment so I created a Tumblr account, so you can just send me an anonymous ask if you want. So you can now find me at anemptywindow.tumblr.com which was awesomely available!
> 
> Another thing, part of this takes place in France. So even though I've written it in English (because I'm too lazy to translate it) they're actually speaking in French. 
> 
> And with all the niceties out of the way, enjoy!

They left around 4am in the morning, in a hot-wired jeep that was easily twice Abram’s age. His mom drove with no particular destination, or that was how it was supposed to seem. In reality, she had already mapped out their next move. They were making a quick stop in New York for new IDs. Though it was nerve-racking to be so close to his father’s territory, it was a necessity and they wouldn’t stick around for more than a few days. Where they would go after that, Abram didn’t know, and he knew better than to ask.

The sun was beginning its ascent, and his thoughts inevitably drifted back to Andrew. His friend might be up by now, getting ready to go to school, still thinking that Abram would be waiting for him at his locker.

What will Andrew think when Abram doesn’t show? When he doesn’t meet him for lunch, when he fails to show up at the library? Will he be worried, thinking that something, and he’d been hurt? Will he be angry when he finally realizes that Abram had been abandoned without even a goodbye?

Abram forced himself to stop. This was how it was meant to be. If he had gone to tell Andrew goodbye, he could never leave. He was never supposed to become a permanent fixture in Andrew’s life. It was too dangerous for the both of them. And Abram would rather have Andrew hate him for the rest of his life than become another victim of the Butcher.

Maybe, he muses, Andrew wouldn’t go to school today. Maybe his foster family was woken by the police knocking on their door, there to tell them the bad news. That their son had suffered a horrible accident and had “tragically” perished. Let it be known that Mary Hatford knew who to call, even in Oakland, California. 

It had been surprisingly easy to convince his mom to take out Drake. He had only needed to express his concern about a person who was showing too much interest in them and asking probing questions. She had immediately demanded a name. 

Abram was prepared to give a lot more evidence to his story, but all it took was one casual trip to Drake’s favorite restaurant (that he only knew about because Andrew had warned him to stay away). 

Abram knew Drake held a certain amount of interest in him. His friend had confessed one time that his foster brother liked to talk and fantasize about Abram to Andrew. It was one reason his friend had been so reluctant to accept his feelings. Drake used those dark fantasies to force Andrew to associate Abram with his foster brother. The other boy hadn’t given much detail, but Abram had still dry heaved later in the privacy of their apartment.

That being said, he knew he’d caught Drake’s attention as soon as he stepped into the dinner. He and his mom sat in a nearby booth to better observe the man, but Drake was hardly being subtle. He was obvious with the glances he kept throwing over towards them, especially at Abram. His mom caught every single one.

However, it wasn’t until the man and his friends were finished eating that Drake approached their table. 

“Hi, my name is Drake,” the man stuck out his hand, but when no one reached for it he awkwardly stuck it back in his pocket. “Um, y’all must be new to Oakland, I haven’t seen y’all around until recently.”

Neither Abram nor his mom said anything. People always spilled more than they intended when trying to fill an awkward silence. Changing tactics, Drake turned his full attention on Abram and addressed him directly, “hey, your friends with my foster brother, AJ, right? I never caught your name.”

“We just share a class,” Abram knew there was a chance Andrew might be brought up, he just had to downplay their relationship. Seriously downplay their relationship. 

One of Drake’s friends called out his name and, with neither Abram nor his mom offering anything more, he left with a parting, “don’t be a stranger.” Not knowing that he’d already sealed his fate.

Anxiously, Abram checked his mother’s and found her studying the door through which Drake left with a serious expression. “You’re right, he’s a problem.”

He almost flinched in surprise. Abram had been expecting to do at least a little more surveillance. He already had so many plans to try and subtly convince his mom that Drake needed to be eliminated. He had not expected her to agree this easily. 

His mom stood from her seat, “come Alex, let’s go pay the check.” Abram scrambled after his mother with a newfound sense of hope. He hoped they found the bastard choked on his own blood. 

“Abram!,” he flinched as his mother snapped his name in a harsh tone. Unconsciously he compared it to the way Andrew always said his name, softly then sweetly. The two most important people in his life, yet they said it in such different ways.

“Abram! Pay attention to the road,” his mother scolded, reaching over to whack the back of his head. Obediently he re-focused. 

. . . 

His breath came out in short pants, and he could feel the slick sweat on his palms. The gun in his hands was slippery, but he clutched it tight. He was crammed under the bed, and his mom had left some hours ago, but he paid no mind to the kinks in his legs. In his mind's eye, he mapped out every step to the five different exit points in the motel room they had rented. 

When his mom had left a few hours before the gun had been out, but Abram had still been on top of the bed. But being so close to Baltimore, to his father, was messing with his head. As time went on, the phantom breaths on the back of his neck became more real. Every raised voice, or revved engine, was his father’s men come to take him back.

The world was closing in too fast, so Abram sought shelter underneath the bed. It at least offered a bare minimum of protection. His heart was still beating rapidly, so he tried counting to a hundred and then counting back down. After that, he switched to the times tables.

Nothing was working. By now he was close to hyperventilating, and ghostly hands kept reaching for him to drag him out. Closing his eyes, he made one last desperate attempt to calm himself, and thought back to Andrew. 

He thought about Andrew’s steady presence and calm manner. His warm, hazel eyes, and the small quirk of his mouth that was his smile. Abram focused on every aspect of his friend in as much detail as possible until he had built an exact image of the boy in his mind.

He opened his eyes, his breathing steadier now. Painstakingly, he pulled himself out from under the bed to sit atop it once more. The gun remained clutched in his hands, and in his head Andrew’s voice chanted his name over and over.

“Abram, Abram, Abram, Abram.”

. . .

Their stay in New York must have affected his mother just as much, because their next “stop” turned out to be France. Nice, France. With temperate weather, and a sparkling ocean on hand for if he ever decided to save his father the trouble of killing him.

Except he wasn’t allowed to go out alone just yet, as his French was yet up to his mother’s standards. So right now he was Sophie Bernard, daughter of Anna Bernard, who was incredibly shy and rarely spoke. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to pass as a girl, he’d done it more often when he was younger. Abram didn’t mind though; it helped cover their trail, and that was enough for him. The wig was itchy, though.

The one thing he disliked about France so far was that Exy wasn’t as popular over in Europe. Instead, the focus was on soccer, or football, which Abram didn’t hate, but it just wasn’t Exy. He obsessively collected any bit of exy news he could get and stuck it in his binder.

If Andrew were here, he would have rolled his eyes and Abram’s antics and called him an idiot. But Andrew wasn’t here, and there was no one to indulge him in his excited ramblings on the recent game. There was no one he could obsess over player stats with, and have them just listen fondly, before pulling him down for a chaste kiss. The ache in his chest was becoming familiar, but hurt no less.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Drake is dead, Abram’s gone.

Drake is dead, Abram’s gone.

Drake is dead.

The Spear household was woken at around 6am in the morning, by a tired but dutifully apologetic police officer. He expressed his condolences at the early time, but he had some especially tragic news to bear. 

About an hour before, after receiving a report of a car accident, officers had arrived to find the wrecked remains of a green pickup truck. The driver had not survived the crash, and a driver’s licence from his wallet marked him as one Drake Spear. 

Cass’s knees gave out at her son’s name, but her husband, Richard, was there to catch her. Though he looked equally distraught at his son’s death. 

The officer continued on after expressing his condolences. He said that due to a high blood alcohol content, and no evidence of tampering in the truck, that they had ruled the death an accident. Despite that, however, they still needed someone to come down and identify the body. 

Richard shakily replied that they would be down there soon enough, while Cass sobbed uncontrollably in his arms. The officer finally left, after a heart-wrenching sob from Cass and more reassurances from Richard. Once he was gone, Richard also crumpled to the floor, his wife still weeping in his arms. Tears of his own rolled down his cheeks, and he buried his face into Cass’s hair. 

Up on the top of the stairs, Andrew watched the scene unnoticed. He turned before either of his foster parents could look up and went back to bed. 

Abram was gone. 

Andrew had not taken the day off school to mourn his dead foster brother, but maybe he should have. School was filled with sympathetic stares, and heartfelt condolences for a man that had made Andrew’s life hell. 

So when Andrew didn’t return either of these sentiments, the sympathy quickly turned to judgement. “His older brother just died, and he acts like nothing even happened,” they whisper behind his back.

He’d had to excuse himself for the rest of 4th period before he punched someone in the face. 

However, the worst part of all of this, there was no Abram by his side to buffer him from the stares. There was no one to break through the wall of apathy that surrounded him, so Andrew was left alone in an unfeeling vacuum.

He skipped going to the library after school and went straight to Abram’s apartment building. Unfortunately, he didn’t know the exact apartment number, just the floor from weeks of watching the lights flicker on in his friend's window. So Andrew paced Abram’s floor until he stopped an elderly lady coming out of her own apartment.

“Excuse me,” he asked, “do you know about a boy my age and his mom who moved in on this floor just recently?”

The woman squinted up at Andrew suspiciously before deciding he wasn’t any trouble. “You’re a friend of his then?,” Andrew nodded, “well young man, I’m afraid they’ve left.”

“Left?”

“Yes, the Davises, right? I saw them with the landlord returning the key. Said the mother’s father had fallen seriously ill, and they had to go back to Michigan to take care of him.”

It was like all those fairy tales, the bad ones, with the unhappy and often gruesome ending. Where for every deal or bargain struck the true price doesn't come to light until it was too late. Andrew had promised Abram he would be safe, and in return Abram promised to kill Drake for him. He just hadn’t known that choosing to protect his brother would mean losing his best friend as well. 

He wanted to be mad. He wanted to rage and cry at the injustice of the world for taking away one of the few good things in his life. But nothing could break through the crushing apathy that only grew heavier as he stared up at Abram’s dark window. 

Be happy, he scoffed at the notion. Right now all he wanted was to take out a razor and tear his wrists open just to feel something, because even pain was better than absolute nothing. But he couldn’t even do that, because Andrew had made a promise and he would keep it, even if Abram wasn’t here to see it. 

. . . 

Drake’s funeral was held on a Saturday. It was a rather impressive affair, for such short notice, and many people showed up to honor the marine. It felt like half of Oakland felt the need to wax poetic about Andrew’s dead foster brother. Everyone had some sort of fond memory that they needed to share. 

Both Cass and Richard gave a speech, but Andrew did not. They had asked him to, but he had refused. The only thing he wanted to say to Drake’s coffin was “have fun in hell,” and he didn’t think the Spears would take that too well. 

Half way through the service he had to excuse himself to the bathroom, because he didn’t think he could hear one more story about Drake saving a kitten, or how he must surely have been welcomed as an angel. 

He stumbled into the bathroom and locked the door, before sinking to the door. A giggle broke free, and he quickly clapped a hand over his mouth, but more laughter broke through. Until he was laughing hysterically on the bathroom floor. It must have been a couple minutes before he finally subsided. 

When he finished, he was left lying on the floor and staring at the ceiling. He waited, staring at the stained tiles above. Wondering if Abram would fall through one of them, like he had done all those months before.

He returned to the service in time to watch them carry out the casket and into the hearse. The Spears followed behind the hearse in their own car to the graveyard. Here, only close family and friends could attend. It was the part Andrew looked forward to the most.

Without looking away, he watched each handful of dirt that was thrown on top of Drake’s casket. He even threw a handful himself. Hell, if they would give him the shovel, Andrew would finish the job gladly. He never knew how cathartic this could be, burying his rapist. 

. . .

Andrew has been alive for a total of 13 years, and in that time he has lived in 22 homes. The Spears were the longest he’s ever stayed in one place. It felt ironic that both he and Abram had never been tied down to a single place, and yet still collided together. Abram had teased him with the idea of fate, and Andrew had scoffed in his face while secretly believing in it too. How else would he find both a mom and a companion in the same place? 

It was only now that Andrew realized that if this was the design of the universe, the only thing it could be was a cosmic joke. Because he had already lost Abram, and now he was losing Cass too. 

He had come home from school as normal, and they’d had dinner like normal, but before he could disappear upstairs to his room, Richard and Cass sat him back down at the table. 

“Andrew,” Cass started, “you’re a good boy, and we loved having you here, honestly.” It took him all of three seconds to figure out the direction this speech was heading. After all, he’s heard the same iteration of it 21 times before. 

Richard continued on from his wife, “but with our son’s death, we really don’t think we’re in the best state to be good parents to a foster kid like yourself.” They waited for a reaction, but Andrew refused to give them one. “We think it might be best if you moved on to a different home.”

He studied their faces. They looked guilty, but not remorseful, like they knew what they were doing was unfair, but they were still glad to see him go. It was all Andrew needed to give a short nod, before standing abruptly. Cass and Richard started at the sudden movement, but made no attempt to stop him from disappearing back to his room.

When he got there, his gaze caught on Aaron’s second letter, still sitting on his desk. The one Drake had taunted him with. He had never read, too resentful of the destruction it had caused. He crossed the room and sat down at his desk. Picking up the envelope, he studied it for a moment, then he opened it up and read his twin’s letter.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………….. 

Nice was starting to get better, as was Abram’s French. He still spent most of his days cooped up in their new apartment, reading textbooks and newspapers while simultaneously listening to audio lessons. He hadn’t yet managed to nail down the accent, but he was improving rapidly. A hard hand from his mother every time he messed up a conjugation was good motivation. 

He bet Andrew would have an easy time of it. One of the first things he’d noticed about his friend was how good his memory was. He could quote a book word for word, and he never forgot a single thing Abram said. It was so frustrating when they were having one of their dumb arguments and Andrew would throw something he said two weeks ago back in his face.

With such an excellent memory, French vocabulary and conjugation would be a piece of cake for his friend. Though knowing Andrew, he would probably butcher the accent on purpose just to piss people off. It made Abram smile to think about the other boy’s antagonistic nature. It was embarrassing how horribly attracted to it he was.

Another thing he was starting to like about Nice were all the tourists. His mom worked a day job, but pick-pocketing tourists had become their main source of income. They were such easy targets, and they were often carrying a large amount of cash on them. 

Of course, they still had most of the five million dollars his mom originally stole from his father. But that was saved for fake IDs and hiring hit men to take out the rapist of your ex-boyfriend. On the regular day-to-day basis they lived off what they could scrounge up, which was often very little. But Nice seemed to be a touristy destination, so right now he and his mom were living pretty well.

Most days Abram would practice some French in the morning while having breakfast. Then, as his mom went off to work, he would go to one of the fifteen tourist traps he had located around the city. He would lounge around there for a couple hours and then walk away a few hundred dollars richer. He would pick up a sandwich for lunch and then head back to get in as much studying before his mom got home.

When she did return from work, she would quiz him on his accent and fluency. If he did well, she would go on to make dinner, if he didn’t. . . well, most days he did well. It wasn’t a luxurious life, but it worked for them. 

. . .

Abram had already spotted his target ten minutes ago. A haggard dad in khakis, who was trying to hold an ice cream cone while simultaneously corralling three small children. He looked jet lag, distracted, and wealthy enough to make Abram a couple extra twenties. 

From his spot against the wall, he tracked the man’s path. When the man was a couple feet away from where he wanted him, Abram pushed off the wall. He casually walked towards him, bumping into him right in a camera blind spot. Muttering his apologies, he walked off with the money clip from the man’s back pocket. 

His victim was so caught up in one of his toddlers throwing a tantrum on the ground that he didn’t even seem to notice. Still, Abram made sure to put a good amount of distance between himself and the melt down before discarding the money clip in a nearby fountain. 

He didn’t bother counting the money right then and instead stopped by one of the cheaper bakeries in town to pick up a croque madame for lunch. He rattled off his order, secretly proud of his flawless accent, and stood off in the corner to wait. 

It was habit to watch each person who entered the little shop and to take note of their orders, always keeping an eye out for the suspicious. But his gaze kept drifting back to the pastry display case. It was filled with a modest collection of cakes and tarts, neither of which really interested Abram, except they kept reminding him of a certain sweet-tooth back in the U.S. 

Andrew would love all the little bakeries filled with so many sweets it would give most people diabetes at a glance. Abram bet his friend could spend hours comparing different chocolate cakes to find the very best. And although Nice didn’t quite have the ice cream selection Andrew was used to, even Abram had to admit the gelato was excellent. 

He started when his order was called out and he realized that he was just standing around and smiling to himself like an idiot. Abram shook himself and then grabbed his sandwich before hurrying out the door.

The path he took back home was winding, an attempt to throw off anyone who might be following him. Back at the one-room apartment he slammed the door closed and locked it, rolling his eyes at the screaming match happening next door, the fifth one that week.

He lay down on the mattress and pulled out his sandwich, listening to his neighbors and trying to translate the rapid and angry French. When the sandwich was finished he checked the time, four more hours until his mom came home. Abram scrambled over to the old TV set and quickly flipped through the channels until he found the one channel that covered Exy.

He settled in to watch the match, a Trojans vs Bearcats match, and after a minute turned up the volume as the argument next door had escalated to smashing things against the wall. Abram let himself be immersed in the game, while part of him was keeping an eye on the time, and another part was quietly wondering if Andrew was watching the same match. 

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………… 

Andrew stared at his reflection from across the table, or maybe he was the reflection. Where Andrew was quiet and unmoving, Aaron was flighty and fidgeting. He tugged on his sleeves, looked to his uncle, looked to Cass, looked to Andrew, and then ducked his head to pull on his sleeves again. And so the process repeats itself. 

Cass was just as nervous to Andrew’s left, desperately trying to fill the awkward silence with conversation. Andrew refused to talk, even when spoken to, Aaron would give his quiet replies but wouldn’t say anything beyond that. His foster mom’s (ex-foster mom) only salvation was the twin’s supposed uncle, Luther. But he had a strict, brooding air in which small talk just withered away, so really Cass was left to flounder by herself. 

“It’s too bad Andrew's mother couldn’t make it, I really would’ve liked to meet her.”

“She was busy,” came Luther’s stony reply. That made Cass seem to shrink even smaller in her chair. 

“I’m really terribly sorry to spring this on you,” she started once again, “I didn’t know Andrew had any existing family until he told me a week ago.” She side-eyed him, but he refused to look at her. He hadn’t even glanced in her direction the whole time, just kept his eyes on his twin. “He’s not a bad kid, and we really hate giving him up, but with Drake’s,” she choked on the name,” death, we’re really not in the position to be carrying for another kid.”

Luther nodded in affected sympathy. “We understand,” he replied reassuringly, “Tilda is a good mom and I’ll be around to watch over the boys as well.”

Cass seemed more reassured at Luther’s bland comforts, but Andrew had stopped paying attention to the adults. Instead, he had fixated on the full body flinch Aaron made at the mention of his mother. 

Andrew held no illusions about the Minyard household. He had been given up at birth, and it was only now at his uncle’s insistence that Tilda was reluctantly taking him back. But, judging by his twin’s visceral reaction to his mother’s name, it seemed that Aaron’s home life was shittier than he had first imagined. 

Once again he took in his brother’s hunched posture, and long sleeves so similar to Andrew’s own. There were deep bags under Aaron’s eyes, and he simultaneously flinched away from everything while shooting Andrew looks of shy hope. 

He had hated his brother on sight. He hated the cowardly tremble and the stupid optimism that their relationship was going to be anything other than an absolute train wreck. But to be fair, he had hated his brother before that. 

In Andrew’s mind, Aaron was the reason he lost Abram. If his dumbass twin had taken Andrew’s hint and left him alone, he would never have been discovered by Drake. Then Andrew would never have asked Abram for that monumental favor, and his friend would still be here. 

A part of Andrew knew that was illogical, and that Abram would have moved on sometime or other. But a larger part of him was angry at the world for taking away his best friend and was looking to place blame, even if it was irrational. But now, looking at Aaron’s hunched form, he felt that anger start to slip away, or at least shifting to a different target. 

. . .

The awkward meet and greet had finally come to an end as their pitiful party exited the coffee shop. Andrew’s bags had already been loaded into Luther’s car, and his uncle looked anxious to distance himself from California. He quickly strode toward his shiny car, Aaron hurrying after him after glancing back at Andrew.

Cass faltered now that they were left alone. Her arms twitched as if she wanted to reach out for a hug, but Andrew maintained his distance. He wasn’t buying into the happy family act anymore. 

“Andrew,” Cass pleaded, “please forgive me. I am truly sorry.” He flinched at that hateful word, and the desperate apology grated on his ears. He wasn’t the kind to give out second chances.

“I’ll miss you,” his old foster mom tried again, but Andrew wouldn’t budge. He met Cass’s tearful gaze and with a bored, apathetic tone, told her, “you were never my answer.”

He turned, then, and without another look back slid into Luther’s car. They speed away from Cass’s lone figure and towards whatever fresh hell this new family would present.

. . .

After a very long, silent, and yet exhausting car ride, they finally pulled up in front of a rather nice house. A little too nice for a pastor, or preacher, or whatever Luther said he was. To be honest, the car was a little too nice as well, but Catholicism was always rather capitalistic. 

With no small amount of trepidation, Andrew followed his uncle and brother into the house. There they were greeted by a small mousy woman who anxiously wrung her hands on her apron.

“Luther, it’s so good to have you back,” she greeted them with a weak smile. The woman then did a double take upon seeing Andrew and Aaron. She started to reach for Aaron and then hesitated, as if doubting he was the right twin.

“Maria,” Luther stepped in for her, “this is Andrew, our nephew.” The woman, who must be his aunt, turned her weak smile onto him. “It’s nice to meet you, Andrew,” Maria said, sounding more sincere than he would have expected.

“I’m sorry you can’t meet your cousin, our son, but we’re in a bit of a disagreement right now.” Andrew watched with slight fascination as Luther’s mouth tightened and his face became overcast. Maria interrupted his musings by pulling Aaron into a familiar hug, before leading them further inside. 

Just like the outside, the house was nice, superficially at least. Andrew took in the long hall where crosses and other religious paraphernalia hung, where other people might put family photos. For fuck's sakes, even some of Andrew’s worst foster families had more sentimentality than this couple. Didn’t they have a son?

They shepherded the twins into a neat dining room, in which a second woman sat. The sight of her halting both boys at the entryway. She wasn’t in the least imposing, with a sunken face and a thin mouth. Blood-shot eyes and a trembling hand testified that the glass of wine she held was certainly not her first. 

Seeing the woman who had abandoned him had less of an impact than Andrew would suspect. He kept looking for some sort of familiarity in her face. Something to give certain proof that they were related besides a DNA test. 

They shared the same shade of hair, but while Andrew’s was thick with a slight curl to it. His mother’s, Tilda’s, was thin and limp. Perhaps a side effect of the alcoholism. To be honest, the sight of his long-lost mother inspired little more than disgust, but next to him Aaron was practically shaking. 

“Hey mom,” Aaron’s greeting pulled Tilda’s eyes away from her wine glass to him, before she passed him over and settled on Andrew. Her lip curled in an ugly expression as she took him in from head to toe. 

“And here I thought I was supposed to be the disappointment,” Andrew sarcastically said with a roll of his eyes. 

Tilda scoffed, “you are a disappointment, disappointingly hard to get rid of.” Maria gasped and Luther said sternly, “Tilda,” before turning his disapproving gaze onto Andrew.

Luther sat at the head of the table, with a very self-righteous air, and slowly everyone left standing took their seats as well. Andrew ended up across from Tilda.

“Everyone here is doing their best to make this work, he said once everybody was seated. Andrew shot Tilda a skeptical look, but Luther chose to ignore that. “We are all gathered here today, to fix a past mistake.”

“You mean when Tilda abandoned me as a baby,” Andrew interrupted to a collective intake of breath. Luther and Maria were staring at him with looks of displeasure and horror respectively, while Aaron was doing his level best to become invisible. 

“I did what I had to do, there was no way I could take care of two kids.”

Andrew rolled his eyes, “please Tilda, you can’t even take care of one kid.”

“Andrew,” Luther’s harsh voice intercepted whatever Tilda was about to say in response, and he fixed a hard glare in Andrew’s direction. “I don’t know what kind of families you lived with before, but here that sort of behavior is not tolerated. We respect our betters.” Tilda looked entirely too smug with the lecture Andrew was receiving. “Are you really trying to make this work? Must I remind you, that you reached out to us first?” 

Andrew smirked. “I did,” he admitted, “because somehow between you and foster care, Tilda was the lesser of two evils.” He turned back to Tilda, “though now I’m wondering about that.” Still no comment from Aaron. Maybe he’d finally figured out that having an identical twin was not it was all chalked up to be.

The rest of dinner did go better, but that was only because it started out so awful. The atmosphere was tense, and the hostility between Andrew and Tilda was enough to counter any of Luther’s or Maria’s attempts to lift the mood. Aaron didn’t say a single thing all throughout dinner. By the end of it, Andrew couldn’t decide if he was reluctant or eager to leave.

“Tilda, you can’t seriously be considering driving,” Luther protested as Tilda swayed on her feet. But he merely pursed his lips and did nothing as she waved him off and stumbled into the driver’s seat of her shitty car. What responsible adults Andrew would be living with. Tilda had left dinner rather drunk, and only through good fortune had she remained upright on her way to the car. Aaron stole the passenger seat so Andrew was left to shuffle into the back seat. 

Up front, his brother began fussing with his sleeves while Tilda drove erratically through the streets. Without looking she reached over and whacked him hard over the head, “stop doing that, you’re being distracting.” Aaron hunched in on himself and gave a mumbled apology. Absolutely pathetic.

But not ten minutes later, he began fussing with his sleeves again. Again Tilda reached over to smack him, but Andrew’s hand shot out, grabbing her wrist. The car jerked as Tilda started in surprise, and Andrew waited until she had righted it. “Don’t,” he warned, squeezing her wrist and feeling the bones grind as she whimpered. Satisfied that she had understood the warning, he let go and leaned back in his seat. Resolutely, he stared out the window, ignoring the both of them for the rest of the drive. 

……………………………………………………………………...………………………………………..

Abram stared out at the Mediterranean sea that stretched beyond his feet. He was seated on a low stone wall, legs dangling over the expanse of blue. The sun sparkled off the water’s surface like it was made of diamonds, reflecting light everywhere. It was Abram’s favorite place to have lunch. 

There was something about the open water that calmed him. It was like a long stretch of road that always held the whispered promise of escape. He’d stare out over the sea and think of all the different countries it would take him too, a sea of possibilities. Abram sighed around his sandwich. That was such a pathetic pun and Andrew wasn’t even here to look disgusted. 

“Excusez moi, petite fille,” Abram startled from his somber thoughts and turned to look at the man who’d interrupted his thoughts. He was put on edge at being called out, but the man didn’t seem too threatening.

He appeared to be somewhere in his twenties, with a thin, reedy build, and an open face. His thick glasses gave him the look of a praying-mantis, and Abram was having a hard time being suspicious of him. 

“Um,” the man started again, seeming to take Abram’s silence as permission to continue. “I’m sorry I didn't mean to do this without your permission, but the way you were looking out over the sea,” the man revealed a watercolor sketch of Abram sitting on the wall. Damn, had he really been here that long?

“Here,” the man prompted with the watercolor, “you can have it, I swear I didn’t make any more.”

Abram stared dispassionately at the watercolor. It was good. But with the life he leads, that meant practically nothing. “Keep it,” he said, hopping off his perch, “I’ll just burn it.” And with that, he stuffed the remainder of his sandwich in his face and walked off without a backwards glance. 

. . .

“Salut, Felix, Salut, Sophie!”

“Salut, Gilbert,” Felix calls back with a wave before turning back to Abram, who was waiting beside him. “Shall we go, Sophie?,” he asks, fixing him with a crooked smile. Felix and Abram live in nearby apartment complexes, and it’s been routine to go home together after playing football with the neighborhood boys for the past week. 

Abram had been on his way home one afternoon, after lunch, when a ball rolled his direction followed by a rowdy group of boys around his age. They shouted and waved at him to stop the rogue football. Almost without thinking, Abram picked up the dirty ball and handed it to one of the sweaty boys. 

They had thanked him and as if in afterthought invited Abram to join them in a game. They seemed almost as surprised as Abram was when he accepted the invitation. Later he reasoned to himself that the exercise was good, and the socialization let him practice his accent and pick up more slang terms. 

The only downside was that although football was ok, it only made him long for Exy more. Also, there was the problem of Felix walking him home after every game. The boy had a habit of brushing their hands together, which always caused Abram to stifle a flinch, and more than once he caught Felix staring at him from the corner of his eye. 

“Christ Sophie, you always surprise me with how fast you run,” Felix said interrupting Abram’s, idly spinning the football in his hands. “Sometimes I forget you’re a girl.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean,” Abram asked, giving the boy beside him a raised eyebrow.

Felix laughed and raised his hands defensively, “nothing, just that you’re a good football player for a girl.”

“You mean I’m a good football player, period.”

“Of course,” Felix said with a laugh and an easygoing smile that was hard to stay mad at.

The pair walked on a little farther, Felix sometimes bouncing the ball in his hands sometimes spinning it.

“Say Sophie.”

“Yeah?”

“Would it be okay- I mean would you mind it if I kissed you?”

Abram stopped to stare at the boy next to him. Felix stopped too, but he refused to look in Abram’s direction, instead staring down at the football as if it were fascinating. 

He checked back in with himself. As far as he knew he didn’t feel that way with Felix, there was no trust between them, really. Hell, Felix didn’t even know he was really a boy. But maybe he would start to feel something if they kissed. Maybe the reason he was still so hung up about Andrew and thought about his friend almost every waking second, was because he’d never liked kissing as much as he did with Andrew. At the time he just assumed it was because of Andrew, but what if it was because he’d simply never kissed a guy before? 

A traitorous thought slipped through Abram’s. Maybe this could help him forget.

“Sure,” Felix looked up, startled at Abram’s reply.

“Re- Really?,” He asked. “No wait, don’t take it back.”

He moved towards Abram and then remembered he was still holding a football before hastily dropping it and wiping his hands on his jeans. Abram held himself still as Felix’s hands came up to cup his face. He tried telling himself that he wasn’t betraying anybody, and he wouldn’t even ever see Andrew again (especially if he wanted to keep him safe). Last minute, as Felix’s face got closer to his, Abram remembered to shut his eyes. Andrew always said it was creepy to kiss with your eyes open. 

The kiss was chaste and unbelievably boring. Abram didn’t feel anything that he had felt with Andrew. Not even a little bit of excitement. There was none of the thrill, or comfort, or the general sweetness he’d had with Andrew. Felix was just another face very (very) close to his. 

Felix finally pulled away after a long moment, blushing like mad. And before Abram could tell him he’d really prefer to stay friends, he’d grabbed his football and dashed off. Leaving Abram feeling infinitely worse than he had before. Because all that kiss did was remind him how much better it was with Andrew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big oof.
> 
> I hope this was as fun too read as it was fun to write. Actually scratch that, I hope it was more fun to read because I'll admit I struggled. Feel free to leave kudos and comments I adore every one of them. :::::)


	4. Fake Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Yes or no?"
> 
> "Yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, tis me. . .again. I swear I'm not abandoning this, just working very very slowly. This is another light chapter both in content and warnings. And that being said I would like to list the trigger warnings:
> 
> TW for Child abuse: This is probably the heaviest one. We see a lot of close up of Tilda's abusiveness as well as Mary's. The most intense scenes happen with the Minyards. But yes, we encounter it on both sides.  
> TW for substance abuse/mention of substance abuse: We have Andrew's observations of both Tilda's and Aaron's addiction to both alcohol and drugs. While they were mentioned, I believe, in the previous chapter, here they are more thoroughly explored.   
> TW for mention of character death/assassination: Andrew talks about both Drake's death as well as planning to kill Tilda. It's very light however.
> 
> I believe that is all for the trigger warnings, but I do have a few more. . I guess concerned mentions. In this chapter, Andrew attempts to get Aaron to give up his addiction by using himself as a bargaining chip. This is not a healthy thing to do. If you are trying to get a loved one to break an addiction do not put yourself in the equation. You are under no obligation to stay with an addict, and are well within your right to consider your own mental and physical health first. However, recovering from an addiction is not a straightforward process. It's not a simple their love for you trumps their need for drugs. It's a hard fucking (excuse my french) uphill battle and needs to be done with professionals, and relapses DO happen. Anyway, Andrew here is young and stubborn, he does not know the ways of the world. So please do not use him as a role model, as awesome as he may be. 
> 
> Phew that was long. Though I have one more thing to mention. In the chapter Andrew is seen lifting weights to try and build muscle mass. In no way is he trying to become jacked or anything. He's 14 there's no need for him to be a body builder, and I am not trying to hold anyone to unrealistic body standards. He is merely trying to build his strength and endurance for athletic reasons. I realized this might be concerning for some so I decided to clarify. 
> 
> As always if you have ANY questions or concerns ( or if you are just lonely) you can contact me through my tumblr, anemptywindow.tumblr.com. And without any more rambling on my part, please enjoy!

Whatever good fortune lent Luther his shiny car, and cushy home, it didn’t seem to have extended itself to Tilda. Or maybe it did, and she had just wasted it away on liquor. And pills. Andrew quickly found out about the pills too. 

If this was one of Andrew’s foster homes, then he would already be half-way through planning the fastest way to kick himself out the moment he stepped into that shitty apartment. Andrew’s jaw clenched as he took in the strewn beer cans and stacks of prescription bottles that littered the dingy apartment. He reminded himself that he had chosen this and that he couldn’t back out now. 

It wasn’t that it was hard to adjust, despite living with the Spears for almost a year. In fact, it was achingly familiar. A snarl almost curled its way across his face, but Andrew fought to keep it blank. Not for the first time since he received his twin’s letter, Andrew wondered what life would be like had he been the one Tilda kept. Would he have ended up a shivering, quaking mess like Aaron? Would his life have been so different under Tilda’s hand instead of ever changing foster families?

He shook himself free from such thoughts. Abram would tell him he was being gloomy. 

He shared a bedroom now with his twin, and though his skin crawled with the thought of sleeping in the same room as someone else, he liked having Aaron where he could keep an eye on him. If asked, Andrew would deny it, but something made him reach out and stop Tilda’s hand. Maybe it was his anger at Tilda, or maybe he just couldn’t stand watching something so pathetic.

Andrew ignored the little voice in his head that said he protected Aaron, because he couldn’t protect Abram. 

Luckily, Aaron seemed just as keen on the idea of sticking to Andrew. Where before, he had just seemed curious and hopeful about Andrew. After that car ride, his brother clung to him with the desperation of a drowning man. Aaron had taken to hovering over his shoulder with an annoying persistence. More than once, Andrew had to give his brother a hard glare to keep him from following him into the bathroom.

At least his brother had caught on that any questions about his old foster homes would be met with a blank stare. During the first couple of days, Aaron had been full of endless questions. Where Andrew had lived before, the families he’d stayed with, and what video games he played. 

Andrew had only bothered to reply to that last question. “None,” he said with a glare to discourage further questions. Thankfully, Aaron seemed to take the hint and kept his mouth shut for the rest of the day. Though he seemed to have forgotten the morning after.

“So have you gotten a girlfriend yet?”

Andrew let the murderous look on his face answer for himself. 

. . .

Unfortunately, Aaron’s school had already let its students out, so they spent most of their days cooped up in the apartment. Which made the smell of stale beer inescapable. As well as Tilda’s bad parenting.

Andrew was fairly sure she had a job, as she routinely went out and didn’t come back till late evening, but that was still yet to be confirmed. Money came from somewhere to sustain Tilda’s addictions, with little left over to pay for food and bills. Andrew wasn’t surprised. This was hardly the first house where getting a fix was more important than getting everyone something to eat. 

Tilda’s addiction wasn’t the problem, however, it was Aaron’s. More than once, Andrew had caught him taking one of Tilda’s beers from the fridge or pouring himself a glass of cheap whiskey. Not that Andrew was a stranger to sneaking some liquor for himself. Just a taste here and there, never enough to incapacitate himself, and never enough for anyone to notice. What was infinitely more concerning was the sleeping pills his twin regularly took before bed. Pills that he saw Tilda slip her son from time to time. 

“I just need it to sleep sometimes. I’m so tense and anxious from school and stuff. I want to be a doctor, you know” 

Andrew decided it was best to ignore such pathetic excuses. He wondered how long Tilda hadd been dosing Aaron, to make him easier to deal with. At least Aaron had yet to progress to the heavier drugs that Tilda also dabbled in.

As fascinating as it was to watch his twin’s growing addiction, sometimes Andrew needed some space from the two addicts. Without many places to go, Andrew took to wandering through the neighborhood. It was miserable in the heat, and he didn’t have any money, so escaping into a store was impossible. Still, it was better than sitting around at home waiting for Tilda to snap, or ignoring Aaron’s desperate gaze. 

He became familiar with the different streets soon enough. As well as with the suspicious stares that followed him. Mostly from suburban moms and store owners who silently warned him to keep walking. He didn’t blame them. It was a rough neighborhood. 

It was during one of these walks that he passed by an old community center. He didn’t pay it any mind until one of the posters taped up to the window had him doubling back. Rec sports Exy, no previous experience needed, equipment provided. Andrew scoffed and moved on, only getting a few paces before he groaned and turned back around. Walking back up to the poster, he glared at it, taking in the date and times, before huffing and moving on.

Abram was a memory he had been desperately trying to bury, no smother, for the past month to no avail. Joining the community exy team was completely contradictory to that effort. At least, he reasoned with himself, it would get him out of the house. Satisfied with that logic, Andrew reluctantly began to head home.

He was just down the hallway from their door when he heard a loud noise of something heavy hitting the wall and raised voices. Andrew ran and threw open their apartment door, to see Tilda in the kitchen clutching Aaron by the hair and holding a kitchen knife to his face. At the noise Tilda whirled around to face him, snarling. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?,” Andrew asked, deceptively calm.

“Andrew-,” his twin started to say, but he was cut off by a hard shake from Tilda. Andrew narrowed his eyes at the rough treatment, but he still didn’t make a move.

Tilda snarled again at him, like a feral animal, “this clumsy brat dropped a fucking plate and woke me up, as if I wasn’t tired enough already with all the fucking noise y’all make.” Which was rich coming from the person who stumbled around drunk at 2am every morning. 

When Andrew gave no reaction, Tilda turned back to his brother, but before she could raise her knife again Andrew quickly strode forward and once more grabbed her wrist. He squeezed it tightly, feeling the bones grind underneath the skin. The knife clattered to the floor and her grip on Aaron’s loosened enough he could pull away. Tilda began to writhe and twist, trying to break away, but Andrew’s grip was like iron. He pulled her down until they were the same height.

“Listen to me carefully,” he said slowly, “you are not to touch him.” And with that he let go, letting Tilda stumble away. She leaned heavily against a wall and eyed him with fear from the living room, before she crawled back to her room. Probably to pop a pill or two and drift away from all her problems.

“Andrew-,” his twin started again, but Andrew ignored him. He couldn’t deal with Aaron right now. He headed off to his room and debated banging his head into the wall. The concussion might be worth it, but it would probably break his promise to Abram. Now Andrew wanted to do it just to forget that name. 

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Leonela and Jules Martin had moved to the small town of Andermatt, Switzerland just under a week ago, yet Leonela was still at the height of paranoia. Not even Jules could understand where it was coming from. 

They had paid a little extra while getting their new IDs for some information, and all their contact could find was that the Butcher and his men were safely in the US. And although that tidbit provided a small bit of relief, Leonela’s suspicious nature quickly got the better of her. SHe doubted their contact, and Jules had to talk her down from throwing away their new identities so quickly. Things like this were costly and shouldn’t be wasted. He managed to convince her, but since then her temper had been short and her hits were brutal.

She almost didn’t let him go to school that time either, but common sense won out. It was a small town, and for all the security that provided it also came with a lot of scrutiny. People would notice if she kept Jules out of school, and then someone might start probing deeper than their forged papers could back up. So Leonela acquiesced and enrolled Jules into the local middle school, even if it was only for the last month before summer break started. 

Jules himself, didn’t know how to feel about school. It was an escape to be sure from his paranoid mother, but that same paranoia also kept him isolated. He kept interactions to a bare minimum, as he never knew what might set his mother off. He avoided eye contact and conversations. Any and all personal questions were met with short, bland, one word answers. 

It was excruciating. Jules had never been one to crave human contact, and he was used to being alone, but even for him this was extreme. In fact his discomfort was so great that other people were beginning to pick up on it. 

One afternoon after class, his math teacher stopped him to ask if he was ok. She had noticed his isolation and wondered if there was anything going on that she should know about. Jules emphatically denied it and assured her that it was only nerves from being the new student so late in the school year. 

Apparently he hadn’t been convincing enough as later, she had worriedly phoned his mom, asking if everything was alright. The beating when he got home was brutal. The next time his teacher stopped him, Jules gave a more convincing lie. 

He wasn’t sure whether he dreaded or anticipated summer break. On one hand, he would be free from the scrutiny of his teachers and classmates, but on the other, he was stuck in a small apartment with his ill-tempered mother. It wasn’t the first time he desperately wished for some sort of escape and it wasn’t the first time the image of a worn down library, nearly forgotten, formed behind closed eyelids as he drifted to sleep.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

“Where are you going?”

Andrew turned around to see his brother watching him put on his shoes. “What’s it to you?,” he asked with a glare warning Aaron to drop it. But his twin had worked up a bit of spine since Andrew got here and just jutted out his chin stubbornly. 

“This is the third time you’ve been out this week and it’s only Wednesday, where are you going?”

“Rec center,” Aaron seemed shocked by the answer if the silence behind him was any indicator. Though whether it was because Andrew answered his question or he thought he was going out to do commit a felony was still uncertain. He didn’t bother to wait and found out and used his brother’s momentary surprise to walk out the door. 

He had made it out of the building before he heard footsteps running after him. Andrew didn’t bother slowing down and let his twin run up beside him. Gasping for breath he tried to keep up with Andrew’s brisk walk.

“Slow down a bit, would ya,” but he wasn’t about to make things any easier for his brother and only sped up. 

“Fuck, Andrew!”

Eventually Aaron’s breathing returned to normal, and they settled into a slower pace. They arrived at the community rec center ten minutes after, just in time for the community exy team to practice. Aaron made it all the way to the locker room, where Andrew ignored the few head nods in his direction, before he stopped.

“You’re playing exy?,” he asked incredulously. Andrew didn’t bother answering this obvious question and continued pulling on his borrowed pads. He had to restrain himself from lashing out when Aaron reached out to grab his arm.

“Andrew, you play exy? You like exy?”

He shook off Aaron’s hand, “I don’t like exy,” he snarled at his brother.

“Then what the fuck are you doing here?” They were drawing more than a few glances as players got dressed and left the locker rooms. Andrew threw down his pads to face his brother.

“I’m sorry you want to just sit around in that shit hole just waiting for mommy dearest to come home? Fuck that, I may not like exy, but it’s better than sitting at home with your miserable ass.”

Andrew turned back to the locker and finished putting on his gear. He had conveniently left out how playing exy makes him feel closer to a certain blue-eyed pipe-dream. That the memory of a smile and a teasing laugh had led him to choose the goalie position. He left his brother none the wiser of his dumbass pining and made his way to the rec court. 

They had just started on drills when his brother walked on dressed in borrowed pads and swinging a backliner racket.

. . .

Nicky Hemmick vibrated with energy. Like some sort of oversized golden retriever, he bounded up out of his seat as soon as he saw the twins walk into the coffee shop. His tall frame had Andrew hanging back, but his brother stepped up into his cousin’s hug. 

They made quite the contrast, Aaron short and blonde, and Nicky tall with curly dark hair. If Andrew hadn’t already met his aunt and uncle, he would have had some doubts about being related. Though he still didn’t understand how someone so stupidly happy could come from such a stern person as Luther. 

His cousin finally spotted him and pulled away from Aaron to hurry toward Andrew. Andrew quickly crossed his arms over his chest and tried to emit no-hugging vibes as hard as he could. Judging by the way his cousin faltered, he got the message. Though that didn’t stop him from hitting Andrew with an open and genuine smile. 

“Hi, I’m Nicky. I think we have a lot to catch up on.”

. . .

“Here.”

Aaron threw a controller onto Andrew’s lap with little other warning startling him from his brooding. He’d taken over the couch in the living room to stare into space and Aaron had only dared to appear once Tilda left for work. He looked down at the controller in his lap.

“What’s this?”

“A game controller.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

Aaron sighed and plopped down at the other end of the couch. It annoyed Andrew that he could not stretch the full length of the couch. 

“You said you never played any video games, so I thought I could teach you.”

It was true, Andrew had never touched a controller in his life. He’d always been stuck watching the other kids play. At one point he might have been envious, but he had long since grown out of that emotion. Now he watched his twin pop a disc into the game system.

“You want this to be some kind of fucking bonding thing,” he asked Aaron with a sneer.

“Yes, I do. Would it be so bad just to forget for a moment all the shitty stuff in our lives?”

Andrew wanted to snap back that Aaron didn’t know the half of it, but the sudden loud noise from the TV startled him. He looked at the screen in time to see the opening sequence for whatever game Aaron had put on. 

“What the fuck is this?

“GTA.”

“What?”

“Grand Theft Auto.”

“Oh. So we steal cars?”

“Yup.”

Andrew was definitely not expecting for such a dumb sounding game to be that entertaing. He had to admit all the different cars were kind of cool, as was running over policemen. But still, he didn’t think he would get that into it. Even so, half an hour later found Aaron leaning up on his knees, excitedly shouting at the screen, as Andrew dodged the police cars chasing after him. 

“Turn right, turn right, turn right!”

Aaron flopped over dramatically, groaning, as Andrew’s car crashed on screen. He made grabby hands at Andrew who casually tossed the controller to him. He settled back into the couch as Aaron restarted the game. 

“Bet you crash in 3 minutes.”

“Fuck you.”

It felt like a step in the right direction. Neither of them knew how to make this twin thing work, but sitting here together on the dirty couch playing video games together seemed a lot like progress. 

. . . 

There have been a few times in Andrew’s life when he wondered if he would have been better off dead. It was a surprisingly short list, even if Andrew’s one motivation to live was pure spite. But standing in the middle of a crowded mall, at 12pm on a Saturday, with his sullen twin and overexcited cousin came very close to making the list. 

He had been rudely awakened just an hour ago, by Nicky’s boisterous voice, so his brain still felt fuzzy and staticy. The bright fluorescent lights hurt his eyes, adding to his already growing headache. As did Nicky’s incessant bouncing. 

“Ok, I have so many places I want to take you, but we only have a few hours.” Andrew smothered a grimace at the idea of spending hours in this god-forsaken place. Aaron had less subtly.

“Don’t give me that look Aaron, this is for the greater good.”

By ‘greater good’ he meant Andrew’s wardrobe. Foster care did not afford Andrew the best clothes. He considered it lucky if he was only the second person to have worn them. Living with the Spears had at least given him better clothes, but Nicky was still horrified at the sight of his closet. The sight of Abram’s duffel bag would probably send his cousin into cardiac arrest, Andrew mused, before catching himself and quickly cutting off that train of thought. 

“Andrew, what are you looking at, come on.” He looked up to see both his twin and cousin a few yards away, looking back at him. Resigning himself to the next few hours of torture, he caught up with the rest of his family (And fuck was that a weird thing to think about).

Nicky dragged them both into the nearest clothing store that had something pop playing over the radio and enough perfume to make Andrew sneeze. Twice. 

“So, what’s your type?” The answer of blue eyes and a pathological liar, was on the tip of his tongue before Andrew realized Nicky meant style.

“Black,” Nicky waited for Andrew to continue and when he didn’t, took a step back to look him up and down. He shot Andrew a smirk, “I can work with that.”

His cousin began pulling shirts and jeans and jackets off the rack and piling them into Andew’s arms. Who was half-tempted to let them just fall to the floor, but looking at Nicky’s choices he was surprised to find he liked most of them. 

They went through multiple stores like that. Nicky piling clothes in their arms and the twins picking out the pieces they liked most. Soon they had amassed an everest of clothing and even Nicky was looking worn out. 

“Man you guys tired me out,” Nicky complained while Aaron rolled his eyes at his obvious hypocrisy. “We should start getting you guys back home.”

Andrew trailed after his family, the bags on his arms slowly cutting off his circulation. The trip had tired him out and he was already half-zoned out. But one display made him pause. It was for a sports store, which was strange enough, but what drew Andrew was the pair of armbands currently displayed in the window. 

He gave his family a cursory glance, but they hadn’t noticed he’d dropped behind. Before either figured out he wasn’t with them, he ducked into the store. Coming out not five minutes later he quickly found his family who were now desperately looking for him.

Nicky hurried over when he spotted Andrew, “Andrew, where did you go? We were so worried.” All Andrew offered only a half shrug and his cousin deflated and the lack of explanation. His brother on the other gave him a long, hard stare. But when Andrew just stared back he also turned away sulking. Which was nothing new. 

The walk back to the car, borrowed from Luther, was long, laden down by their many bags as they were. But out of all of them, Andrew’s final purchase felt the heaviest. 

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

The bell above the door rang as it swung open.

“Bienvenue,” Abram called out at the new customer who didn’t even pay him a glance. That fit Abram just fine. No one looked at a convenience store clerk twice. It was the perfect job for him. 

Still, despite the anonymity, it was a struggle to get his mother to agree. In the end, however, the lure of a second income convinced her, as they were getting tight on money. Abram was just grateful to get out of the shitty apartment. Where he stared at the wall and alternated between bouts of anxiety and longing, and anxiety about his longing. He much preferred doing the mindless tasks of a store clerk than thinking about a certain blonde he should have forgotten a long time ago. 

Abram sighed as he looked up at the clock. Three more hours until the end of his shift. At least he would get home before his mom. He thought her paranoia would decrease as they got more settled in (as settled as people like them get), but it only seemed to increase the longer they stayed in place. Already he saw her planning their next identities. 

He turned back to his station as the customer from before approached the counter. Pushing back gloomy thoughts to scan the man’s purchases. In the back of his mind, he ran a scan on the man before him. Taking in all the little details to evaluate the man as a threat. It was only five seconds later though that his paranoia was assuaged as the man left without a backwards glance.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

The sound of retching woke him up. A glance out the window told him it was still dark, and a glance at the clock told him it was three in the morning. He stumbled down the hall to the bathroom where light was seeping from underneath the door. He swung it open to find Aaron hunched over the toilet bowl, looking like he’d rather be dead. 

His brother turned to look at him, but another round of vomiting forced his attention back to the toilet. While Aaron was busy puking his guts, Andrew left to go get a glass of water. When he returned, Aaron seemed to have subsided and was now leaning back against the cabinet. Wordlessly, Andrew offered the glass to his twin.

“Maybe next time you shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach before going to bed.”

“Fuck you.”

“Just a suggestion.”

“Aaron,” the use of his name at least got his full attention, “this has to stop.” Aaron bristled and stood up angrily. Though the effect was lost when he swayed on his feet.

“There’s nothing going on, sometimes I just need help going to sleep,” and with that lie he stormed off back down the hall. His glass of water left abandoned on the bathroom floor. Sighing, Andrew picked it up to leave it in the kitchen sink. When he returned to their shared room, his twin was already pretending to be asleep.

. . . 

Andrew didn’t confront his brother the next day. No, he played the long game. He let Aaron brush off their late night conversation, waiting until it was no more than a hazy memory for his brother. He waited until they were both sitting on the couch playing video games, something that had become a weekly occurrence. Tilda had left hours ago. 

“What do you want out of this?”

“What?,” Aaron startled and turned to face Andrew who was already staring back. Their controllers buzzed as their characters were killed on screen. His brother stared at him with wide eyes, a hint of confusion and apprehension furrowed between his brows. Andrew fought down the urge to stand up and abandon the conversation. To hide away this vulnerability and pretend that he didn’t care what happened to Aaron. 

“You want a brother? A perfect, happy family, or at least an attempt at one? Well, it's not going to happen until you fix this,” Andrew said, gesturing to the mess of life and addiction that littered the apartment. “Stop the drugs,” he interrupted before Aaron could begin to protest, “no matter what she gives you. No more drinking to help you ‘go to sleep’, and no more clinging to Tilda hoping she’ll transform into less of a shitty mother. Those are my conditions.”

“Conditions? Conditions for what?,” his brother snarled.

“For staying, for sticking with you.”

“Staying? We’re family, it’s not like you have much of a choice.”

Aaron flinched at the sharp bark of laughter that escaped Andrew. “Family didn’t mean shit when Tilda threw me away, like hell it’s going to stop me from walking away from this mess.” He leaned in close, making Aaron recoil. “Blood isn’t worth it, but a promise might be. Make a deal with me and we’ll see about building your happy family.”

He left his twin on the couch, still trying to process Andrew’s words. Andrew left him to it, he’d put his offer on the table, it was up to Aaron to meet him in the middle.

. . .

The next day as Andrew was making his way to go shower, his brother stopped him with a hand to his chest. He shoved down the instinctive flinch at somebody touching him, and waited out Aaron’s silence. His brother was looking down at the ground and seemingly having some sort of internal struggle. After a long moment, he finally looked up at Andrew.

“You’ll stay? You promise you’ll stay?” He answered Aaron’s question with a solemn nod. This seemed to be all that his twin needed as he nodded back.

“Then you have a deal.”

. . .

Andrew it turns out is not a half-bad goalkeeper. He chose this position as a nod to a fond memory, one of few. What he didn’t expect was to take to it as easily as Abram had said he would. He wasn’t much against the older, and more experienced players as the rec center still, but he’d seen the way they’d look begrudgingly impressed whenever he managed to block their shots. Aaron was also a pretty good backliner, though he had played in middle school while this was Andrew’s first time picking up a racket. 

However, already, they had earned the reputation of being closed-off and anti-social. Andrew point-blank refused to talk to anyone, and while Aaron would answer when directly addressed, he never initiated conversation. 

That’s why when Andrew stalked into the rec center without Aaron by his side, the few other team members who were there didn’t approach him. Paul, their loose captain/leader, nodded to him, but Andrew tolerated Paul more than the others. He was useful in reigning back the few members who tried to take their little community team too seriously. It wasn’t one of their usual meet up times, so there were only a few of them as the basketball team had taken over for the day. 

But Andrew wasn’t interested in their bastardized court, instead he headed for the small gym that connected to the community center. It was overall rather crappy, but had some semi-decent weight lifting equipment. Andrew was starting to learn that while a goalie position didn’t require him to run, he needed to start building some muscle mass if he was going to wave that heavy goalie racket for any extended period. He actually enjoyed the repetitive lifting motion and the strain of his muscles, and any excuse to get him out of the appartment was good enough for him. Though Aaron didn’t seem to share his sentiment, as he usually stayed at home when Andrew left to do weight training. 

He was about fifteen or so minutes into his workout, having already lost himself to the repetitive rhythms, when the lights above flickered twice before going dark. Andrew put the weights down and waited, silent in the darkness. He heard some thunks coming from other parts of the building before Paul poked his head through the door. 

“Hey, Andrew. The building's power has gone out, they’re going to fix it, but they’ve asked everyone to go home for now.” He waited for Andrew’s affirmative grunt before withdrawing. 

A bit disgruntled about the abrupt end to his workout, Andrew reluctantly headed back to the Minyard apartment. Maybe Aaron would be up to some GTA, though he would have to find a way to ask that wouldn’t betray just how much he actually liked the game. He could probably just complain of being bored loudly enough and annoy his brother into suggesting GTA first. 

Satisfied with his plan, Andrew climbed the steps to the third floor, giving Miss Patterson, their nextdoor neighbor, a glare as he passed by. The mean old bat just sneered back at him, curling her lip as if she had smelled something awful. Now a little more pissed off, he shoved his key into the lock only to find that he didn’t need it. The door swung inwards freely.

The sound of his own heartbeat pounded loudly in his head, as he crept into the apartment. The first thing he saw was the broken glass scattered across the floor. He looked for more signs of an intrusion but the apartment was such a mess it was hard to tell a difference. Sticking close to the wall he avoided the broken glass, and inched his way into the kitchen. After checking around the corner, he slipped in to grab one of their largest knives. Now armed he went deeper into the apartment, listening for any sound of movement. Edging toward their bedroom he listened for any noise behind the door before slipping in. 

Inside he was greeted by the sight of his brother lying motionless on the bed. The knife dropped to the ground as Andrew rushed forward. 

“Aaron!”

He grabbed his twin by the shoulders and turned him over, only to find Aaron already awake and grinning at Andrew with a dopey smile. 

“Hey Andrew, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Andrew gave him a shake, “Aaron what happened? Did someone break into the appartment? Are you hurt?”

A frown crinkled his brother’s face. “Why are you shouting,” he whined as his hands came up to cover his ears, “it’s hurtin my head.”

A thought struck Andrew, and he leaned back to survey his twin. At first he was just looking for injuries, and there was some fresh bruising across his twin’s face, but he also noted Aaron’s flushed cheeks, and unfocused eyes. His hand shot under the pillow and though Aaron tried to stop him, he was in no position to take on Andrew in his state. 

Andrew fished out the pill bottle, “you’re using again,” he hissed and now Aaron was trying to sit up. His face was petulant as he made grabby attempts to get at the pill bottle that Andrew kept out of reach. 

“Mom, came back for something, I don’t know,” he sounded like a small child whining about his favorite toy being taken. “She got on me about the apartment, and I tried to stand up to her like you did, but she got-, she got so angry. I just needed something to, you know, take the pain off.”

In a fit of rage Andrew threw the bottle across the room and it burst open as it hit the opposite wall. Aaron made a lunge for it, but Andrew was there to catch him and throw him back on the bed.

“You made me a promise,” Andrew growled in his twin’s face, “you promised me.”

The wracking sob coming from beneath him threw off his anger for a second as he realized Aaron was crying. Big, fat tears rolling down his twin’s red face. Andrew took in their position: him pushing down a crying Aaron into the mattress. Phantom hands clawed at his throat and he scrambled off his brother so fast he fell completely off the bed. But not even the sharp ache as he hit the floor jolted him out of the memories that were now playing before his eyes. They overlayed reality in their viciousness. 

His brother peered over the side of the bed at him and called out a questioning “Andrew?” He looked up at Aaron who still had the wet tear tracks on his cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry Andrew. It was just going to be this one time, you weren’t supposed to know.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?,” Andrew growled in rekindled anger, and Aaron’s tears started up again. Andrew sighed through the mumbled ‘i’m sorry’s and leaned up till he was eye-level with his brother. 

“I’ll give you one last chance,” Aaron nodded enthusiastically. “Pick me over her.”

“What?”

“I’ll deal with Tilda. You stick with me and leave her behind.”

“Andrew, I can’t do that, she's my-,” Andrew’s hand covered his mouth stopping Aaron’s protests. 

“Yes or no. Stick with me and only me, and I’ll make sure she never hits you again.”

He took his hand away from Aaron’s mouth, and held his own breath as the silence stretched. They stared at each other as two warped mirrors, but if Aaron said no then Andrew was prepared to walk out the door and never look back.

“Yes.”

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………. 

One of the few arguments he and Andrew had ever gotten into was a couple weeks after their first kiss. Abram’s mom had had a spike of paranoia that had her trying to drag Abram into the car in the middle of the night. Abram had reasoned and begged with her until she finally let up and agreed to stay. Though she made sure he paid for it dearly. 

When he went to school the next day he gave most people his regular set of lies that no one ever bothered to look past. But with Andrew he gave the truth just as promised. It had his friend snarling and spitting curses.

“She’s just trying to keep me safe,” Abram attempted to assure Andrew, though his friend wasn’t having it.

“Oh really? It seems like she’s doing a piss poor job of it, when you show up to school like this.” He gestured to Abram’s face which was mottled with bruises, already turning a sickly yellow color. 

Abram’s voice was cold and brittle when he replied, “at least I’m not dead.”

There wasn’t much Andrew could say in response but he clearly wasn’t satisfied. Afterwards by some unspoken rule they avoided the topic of Abram’s mom as much as they avoided the topic of Abram leaving.

At times when his mom wrapped an arm around him as they slept that Abram felt more caged than safe. Or when his mom dragged him out of bed in the middle of the night to skip town. But come morning, in a few towns over where they already had new names and a new license plate, Abram would pick up the local newspaper. Only to see the front page reporting on the mysterious fire at an apartment building they had just vacated not 24 hours ago that he was reminded all over again exactly why they were running. 

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………. 

Most people would probably describe Luther Hemmick as a stoic man, but Andrew saw through that bullshit pretty quick. There’s a difference between controlling your emotions and not having them at all. He should know. 

Andrew had called his uncle to meet at the local Starbucks. He’d stressed that it was an urgent and sensitive matter, but here his uncle was merely sipping his coffee without an inch of worry to be shown, not that Andrew had expected much in the first place. Right now, Andrew got the distinct impression that he was being humored. 

“This is about Tilda.”

“Indeed.” A muscle in Andrew’s jaw twitched at the blase response.

“I want to report her to CPS, she’s abusing Aaron, but I need an adult to back me up.”

Luther’s eyebrow rose while the rest of his face remained impassive, despite the accusation against his sister. “You’ve seen evidence of this?,” he asked.

“Of course, I live with them.”

“And yet you do nothing to stop it.”

Andrew snarled, “am I not doing something right now?”

Luther raised his hands in a placating gesture that just riled Andrew up even more. “I was just wondering if you might be overreacting to the situation, there is no need to get so defensive.”

“Overreacting?,” Andrew asked although he regretted the question as soon as he said it. In fact, he was starting to regret this whole conversation. 

“I mean, I don’t know how it was in your foster homes, but we can’t report adults to CPS just because they don’t buy you the latest xbox game.”

Andrew’s fists clenched under the table. He’d never been an optimistic person but even this was failing his already low expectations. “Is that really what you think this is?”

“All I’m saying,” Luther started, “is that this might be a big misunderstanding.”

Unable to take this bullshit, Andrew jerked to his feet, banging into the table as he stood. The sudden movement finally brought some look of surprise to his uncle’s face, but Andrew was already done with the conversation. 

“I’m done with this,” he sneered, echoing his thoughts. Not waiting for Luther’s reply he stormed out of the coffee shop. He was tired of this routine. Reporting to adults never worked. Adults only believe a kid is in danger if they are lying at their feet broken and bleeding. That or dead.

No, reporting wasn’t going to work, but he couldn’t leave Tilda in the picture. Apparently Andrew was going to have to take her out himself, no matter the cost. In truth, he already had something planned, but he thought he would give his uncle one last chance before anything. . .permanent happened. Andrew had never killed anyone, Drake’s death notwithstanding, though he wouldn’t say he was opposed. It certainly was an efficient way of solving his problem with Tilda. A way to circumvent all the bullshit that came with officially reporting her, Andrew knew he would never make his case without support. 

Thoughts on faulty brakes and tragic car crashes were already forming in his head as he stomped back to the apartment, his thick boots making a satisfying thumping sound on the sidewalk. He drew ideas from Drake’s death to formulate his own ‘accident’. One abusers death to cause another. How poetic.

“Be safe Andrew.”

Andrew paused in his fuming. There was still his promise to Abram, one he was determined to keep no matter what. (But he wasn’t about to break his promise to his brother either.) Thinking about his old friend was like falling down a rabbit hole, as memories he had tried to suppress came flooding back. One in particular standing out. 

Because we can’t always choose who we love, and sometimes the people who hurt us the most are the people hardest to let go. 

I thought you of all people might understand.

Andrew sighed. Although he liked to affect apathy he had little left in the world beyond Aaron. Killing Tilda would stop the abuse but it could cost him his brother. He wasn’t selfish enough to let this reluctance get in the way of doing what was necessary, but at least he could try one last thing.

Pulling out a cheap old flip phone, that he’d gone and purchased himself, Andrew scrolled through his contacts to the most recent. He pressed call and listened to the phone ring just twice before the person on the other end eagerly picked up. 

“Andrew!,” his cousin cried in a voice just this side of grating. “Hey, what’s up man? You wanna talk or something?” He sighed forcefully to interrupt Nicky’s endless chatter. 

“Nicky,” his cousin stopped at the sound of his name, “I have something urgent to ask you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww, I hope you liked it. I apologize to anyone who thought they were getting a reunion chapter. You weren't. 
> 
> Another thing! So I use a text to speech to help edit (its very useful) and this was the first time I used it for editing fanfic. You can imagine how mortifying it is. But!!!!, as I was listening, I realized they were pronouncing Abram, as Abrum. And I realized I had always pronounced Ahbrahm. Am I wrong????? Is it just a weird text-to-speech thingie??? Has my whole life been a lie??? Someone please help me :(


	5. Burning on the Sacred Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still a bit restless, Stefan shifted and felt Mia’s arm tighten around him in warning. He obediently settled despite the tingling that ran up his legs with the urge to run. Instead, he let his mind wander in his place. He drifted off to a different night, where the only language he had to learn was “yes and no.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just like to profusely thank everyone who has patiently waited for me to get my act together and finish writing this chapter. I would like to say this won't happen next time but I know better. I can only hope the chapter makes up for the waiting. As a side note, this chapter is very heavily Andrew's POV with only little blurbs from Abram. It won't be like this for the rest of the chapters but rn some shit is going down for Andrew. So let me mover forward with the triggers.
> 
> TW - Child Abuse: Right up front we have Tilda Minyard, and there is a somewhat graphic scene with her and Andrew where she beats him.  
> TW - Implied/Referenced Child Abuse: More abuse is referenced from Tilda and Abram's mother as well. But also Nicky talks about the conversion camp he was sent to by Luther and shows one of the scars he got there.  
> TW - Implied/Referenced Murder: Nothing concerning, Andrew just admits to Aaron he would have murdered Tilda.  
> TW - Implied/Referenced Death: There is a death that happens off screen though it's not a major character and nothing explicit is described.  
> TW - Implied/Referenced drug use: Of course we have mention of Tilda's addiction as well as Aaron's. There is also a scene about Aaron's withdrawal process which I will make a disclaimer about later in the end notes. Also, there is a mention of his Aaron's friends using and selling drugs. 
> 
> I think that is it for triggers please leave a comment or message me on my tumblr if I missed any triggers. Also please message me anonymous or not if you have any questions about the triggers I mentioned or would like an edited copy of the chapter. My tumblr is anemptywindow.tumblr.com. Right now it's just a blank void with a couple of my chapters and some accidental cat posts but who cares it's the internet. 
> 
> So without further ado please enjoy the latest piece of Angel Near Beside Me!

Nicky was sitting on the edge of the hotel bed, his head in his hands. This at least was an improvement from earlier. Andrew remembered with a grimace the guilty sobs that had wracked his cousin's body before. 

His cousin looked up from his brooding, “what do you want me to do?”

Andrew nodded, “I can handle collecting evidence and such, all I need is for you to go in and make a report. They’ll take you more seriously than me.”

With a slight mixture of horror and resignation, he watched as Nicky’s face crumpled once more. “Evidence,” he gasped through wracking sobs. “I should have noticed, I should have done something.”

Never one for comfort, Andrew flatly replied, “well you didn’t, so now’s your chance.” 

Thankfully Nicky just nodded through the fat tears rolling down his face. Andrew sighed and pushed off from the wall he’d been leaning against. “I’ll contact you with more details later,” he said, and escaped out the door before he could be caught by any more. . .emotion.

Guilt wasn’t something he could understand. To him it was such a useless emotion, you couldn’t change the past with it, and it did nothing to solve the present. The only thing you could do was keep on living, and if you stopped that. . . well, there wasn’t much of an alternative.

Stopping just outside of the hotel, Andrew closed his eyes for a second to breathe. The weight on his shoulders had never felt heavier, but there was no time to whine. The world was shit, but he had promises to keep. The moment over, Andrew made his reluctant way back to his druggie twin and deadbeat mother. 

. . .

The incident from about a week ago had alerted him to the fact that Tilda was coming after Aaron when Andrew wasn’t around. About to put the first step of his plan into action, Andrew decided to use this folly against her. He cornered his brother right before one of their weekly exy practices. Usually Andrew left before his brother in order to lift weights at the gym, but this time he had something different in mind. 

“I need you to go as me.”

Aaron looked up from his video game. “What?,” he asked Andrew incredulously, “why would I go as you, the others will notice.”

“They won’t “and because I said so,” Andrew replied with no room for argument. “Go lift some weights.” 

He left while his twin tried to untangle himself from the various cords. “Andrew!,” he shouted after him, “Andrew, I hate lifting weights. Andrew!”

Andrew ignored him to rummage around in his dresser drawers. His brother had just made it through their bedroom doorway when Andrew spun around and shoved the clothes he’d pulled out into his chest. Aaron whined some more, but made no further protests. Just as his brother turned to leave, Andrew stopped him once more.

“Here, don’t forget these,” he said and pulled off his armbands to hand over to his twin, who accepted them quietly. Now it was Andrew’s turn. 

He opened his brother’s drawers to pull out some clothes for himself. Aaron was scrawnier than him, so it was a tight fit, but Tilda didn’t pay enough attention to notice. After that he checked the camera, he’d set up in the living room. He’d bought it cheap the day before and hid it behind the TV where it could record without being seen. After checking that everything was set up, all that was left to do was wait. There was no guarantee that Tilda would be back today, but Andrew was prepared to pull this stunt repeatedly until it worked. 

However, today must have been his lucky (or unlucky) day as he’d only been lounging on the couch for half an hour, when he heard the key turn in the lock. It wasn’t Aaron as practice wouldn’t end for another hour and a half. Sure enough, it was Tilda who stumbled drunkenly through the door.

She staggered into the living room, probably on the way to her room to crash like the useless flesh sack she was. On her way, she half-tripped on a piece of trash. She swayed, cursing fiercely before her eyes caught on Andrew. The minute he had heard fumbling at the door, he had scrambled to start recording on the camera. But now he tried to look as if he was casually lounging on the couch. Before shit could get started, Andrew sent one last silent apology to Abram, he was going to have to bend the rules of their promise just a bit.

He couldn’t turn to look, but Andrew heard Tilda lurching her way over to him. This was the part he had prepared himself for, but he still let out a grunt when she grabbed his hair and yanked. 

“You useless boy. Are you trying to get me killed?”

When Tilda let go, Andrew was thrown to the floor, but she wasn’t done with him just yet. Rounding the couch, she grabbed him by his collar, using it to pull him as she rained fists down on him. All the while shouting about how lazy he was. How useless he was. And, “I never should’ve had you in the first place.”

She finally let go of his collar and Andrew was able to curl up in around himself and protect his head. But this was only to reach for an abandoned beer bottle. The glass broke against Andrew’s side, but this didn’t deter Tilda, and she kept hitting him with the now jagged bottle. All he could manage was to cover his head until she finally started to lose steam, as the withdrawal took effect. 

Tilda stumbled once more, and the broken bottle slipped from her hands to the floor. It shattered completely on impact. Without a single glance to her broken son on the floor, Tilda stumbled the rest of the way to her room. The slamming of the door reverberated throughout the tiny apartment.

Once she was gone, Andrew attempted to push himself up, which proved to be a bad idea as a wave of nausea swept through him. Probably at least a minor concussion then. His right side felt unusually warm, and Andrew didn’t even have to check to know it was soaked in blood. Crawling his way over to the TV stand, Andrew fumbled for the camera to stop the recording. He double checked that it had recorded everything. Fuck, wouldn’t it be just great if he went through all that for nothing? Thankfully, though, everything was there. 

Andrew wasn’t done though. He sent off a quick text to Nicky and, with one deep breath, hauled himself off the floor. The world spun, and he almost fell back down, but he clutched at the TV stand to remain upright. 

He staggered out the apartment door and out into the hallway, not bothering to lock the door behind him. Let Tilda get murdered in her sleep for all he cared. He heard Ms. Patterson crack open her door like the nosy old bat she is, but he didn’t spare her a glance. Nor did he acknowledge for the horrified looks he got on the bus. The driver almost looked like he was about to say something, but Andrew just shoved change for a ticket in his hand, and the man wisely kept his mouth shut. 

How he made his way all the way to Nicky’s hotel door was nothing short of a miracle, and by the look on Nicky’s face when he opened the door, he thought so too. 

“Andrew wha-,” not even bothering to let his cousin finish, he shoved past him and into the room. 

He snapped, “I need you to take some photos for me,” and then turned around when he realized Nicky wasn’t following him. “What?”

“Is this,” his cousin whispered with a horrified face, “what you meant by gathering evidence?”

“Did you think I was going to film Aaron being beaten instead?” Nicky made a little a choked sound, “Besides, Aaron would never let us take pictures after.”

With the camera, Andrew gestured at Nicky, “So come take some pictures.” 

Nicky finally left the doorway to take the camera. Gritting his teeth, Andrew pulled off his shirt in one motion. It hurt like hell, and he had to fight to keep whispering past demons at bay. Without his armbands, or long sleeves to hide his forearms, he had to keep his arms down by his side. The position left him vulnerable, and though he was familiar enough with Nicky to know he wasn’t like Drake or the others, it was a struggle not to lash out. Luckily, Nicky seemed too preoccupied with Tilda’s handiwork to notice either Andrew’s scars or his discomfort. 

The snap of the camera was the only noise in the small hotel room, as Nicky snapped pictures of his front and back, with a few closeups of his face and his right side. After that was done, his cousin went to upload the photos to his computer, where they would later be put in a file for CPS to inspect. Nicky came back over then, minus the camera, but carrying a plastic bag that he handed over to Andrew.

“I got the stuff you requested,” he explained as Andrew began to rifle through the various medical supplies. He hadn’t known to what extent he’d be injured, so he’d asked Nicky to buy a variety of stuff. Popping a couple Advil, he began pulling out some disinfectant and bandages.

“Um,” Nicky hesitated, “is there anything I can help with?”

Andrew eyed him, but his face held only genuine concern with perhaps a hint of guilt. There was no trace of pity. With a grunt, he thrust the disinfectant at his cousin. He wouldn’t be able to reach everything, anyway. Plus, he still shuddered at the memory of Abram’s lecture on proper disinfection. There were entirely too many details.

He let out an involuntary hiss as Nicky began to work on his right side. Ignoring his cousin’s distressed apologies, he focused on bracing himself for the pain. There were two big gashes on his upper arm and torso, with lots of other small cuts surrounding them. The wounds were deep enough to scar, but thankfully shouldn’t need stitches. Andrew didn’t trust Nicky that far, but he abhorred hospitals just as much. 

The whole affair was a silent one, for which Andrew was grudgingly thankful for. As for once, Nicky seemed to store away his chatter, turning his back so Andrew could finally get his shirt back on. Tired of feeling vulnerable, he stood and took back his camera from an anxious Nicky. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay just for a little bit?”

“No, Aaron’s going to be home soon.”

Andrew turned to give his cousin a sarcastic salute and cut off his protests by slamming the hotel door. He was at least no longer bleeding out on the floor, though people still kept their distance on his way back to the apartment. That, however, might also be due to the dark scowl he shot anyone who got too close. 

When he finally got to the apartment, Aaron had still yet to make it back, so Andrew toed off his shoes, shoved aside his responsibilities, and crashed onto the bed. He’d done the important part today, everything else could wait until he didn’t feel like such a sack of shit. 

. . .

Andrew got a text from Nicky, telling him that he had made the report and sent in the evidence. After that, he wasn’t sure what happened. Whether CPS had begun investigating, interviewing neighbors and such, or if they had just thrown his file into the trash. Aaron sent him a few long looks, but kept quiet after Andrew brutally shut down his questions the first time. The days were going by as normal, and if it wasn’t for the bandages still wrapped around his right arm, Andrew would doubt that anything had even happened. Well, until the home visit happened. 

The home visit happened two weeks after the initial report and was a complete disaster. Two CPS agents showed up with an accompanying police officer, asking to speak to Tilda Minyard. Tilda predictably had screamed in their face and slammed the door shut, or at least tried to. Except the police officer stopped her and forced the door back open. By now, the commotion in the hall had drawn the attention of several other neighbors (including Ms. Patterson). The police officer stepped into the apartment, brandishing a warrant, the two agents trailing behind. 

They took in the dismal state of the apartment, evidence of addiction littering every corner. They tried asking Tilda some questions, but she continued cursing and screaming in their faces. The officer tried to give her a warning, “Ma’am, if you keep being belligerent, I’m going to have to remove you from the premises for further questioning.”

But she paid him no heed. So the agents turned their focus on the twins. They looked at Andrew with his impassive face, standing slightly in front of Aaron who was watching them warily. They attempted a reassuring smile at them and asked if they could interview them individually. That was when Tilda flew in a rage. She launched herself at the caseworkers and was stopped only by the police officer. She spit cruel words at them and at the officer restraining her.

The police officer made to maneuver the woman out the door, but Aaron finally broke from his frozen position and ran after them. Tugging on the officer’s arm, he struggled to get the man off Tilda. Andrew saw one of the agents move to intervene, so Andrew stepped in instead. He hauled his brother off the struggling pair, and the apartment door slammed shut behind them. Tilda’s screams could still be heard down the hall.

Andrew was left with a sobbing twin in his arms, and two shocked social workers at his back. He turned to look at them and declared, “I’ll answer your questions.” He didn’t need to glance down to see his twin’s betrayed look.

Later, as the twins sat side by side on two plastic chairs, in a sad-looking office building, Aaron turned to look at him, “how could you betray mom like that?” Andrew had more than made up for Aaron’s stubborn silence in detailing the extent of Tilda’s abuse. “She gave up being my mother when she gave me away.”

“Plus,” he added, “I made you a promise.”

“I-I, I never asked for this,” Aaron cried.

“I promised she would never hit you again-”

“Yes, but not like this-”

“And,” Andrew continued forcefully, “you promised to leave her behind. She was going to have to go one way or another.”

Aaron looked horrified, “what does that mean?”

“Exactly what I said. If it came down to it, death is the most permanent solution. I thought you might prefer this method instead, though.”

He gave Aaron a hard stare and willed him to let go. But his brother only shook his head, watching Andrew with a disgusted expression, “you soulless monster.” Aaron didn't speak or even look at Andrew for the rest of that time. Not even when Nicky rushed in to give them both hugs, which Andrew rebuffed and Aaron suffered through stiffly. And not when Luther strolled in with his stoney expression, and condemning glare that he leveled first his son, before finally resting on Andrew.

“What have you done?”

. . . 

The Hemmicks and Minyards were moved some time later to one of the many dismal offices to wait. Only after an additional half hour did one of the social workers that Andrew recognizes from the house visit, Charles he remembers, finally come in. He made a big show of settling at his desk and organizing papers. He looked up at Luther with a reassuring smile. 

“It’s been a long day, hasn’t it?,” he asked, but only Nicky bothered to respond with a weak chuckle. This, however, did not seem to deter the man as he continued. 

“Well, I’m sorry to say that Mrs. Tilda Minyard has currently had her guardianship responsibilities revoked over Mr. Aaron and Andrew Minyard.” Another smile, now directed at the twins.

The man went on addressing Luther, however, “Now, as their next of kin we would prefer if you took them, otherwise they would have to be put into the foster system.” Andrew stiffened, he was never going back to foster care, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to relinquish Aaron to it either. That doesn’t mean Luther was a better option either, though. As if to prove his point the man slid Andrew a smooth look.

“Of course, I would be happy to take them-.”

“No,” everyone but Aaron swiveled their heads to stare at Andrew. “I went to Luther first before Nicky,” to his left he heard Nicky gasp, “but he told me it was a . . .misunderstanding.” Andrew spat out the word in disgust. 

He could see Luther’s face twist into a snarl, and Mr. Social worker was smiling a lot less now as he looked uncertainly between Luther and Andrew. Aaron continued to stare down at the floor under his feet.

“I’m sure he just didn’t realize the extent-” the social worker hedged, but Andrew was having none of it. 

“I told him the extent of it, he just ignored it. I’m not going to live with him.” Nicky was biting his lip and fidgeting in his seat, alternating between throwing furtive glances at Andrew and his father. 

The social worker tried again, “but then you’ll have to go to foster care, you don’t have any other relatives who can take you in.” 

“I’m not going to foster care either.”

“Dammit boy, you can’t just live on your own,” Luther seethed, “you caused this whole mess in the first place. You should be grateful that I’m still willing to take you in.”

“Now I really don’t think Mr. Minyard-”

“Oh, so it’s my fault Tilda was abusive,” the social worker winced and Aaron let out a whimper at the mention of his mom. 

“Dad,” Nicky tried to start, but Luther just turned his fury on his son. 

“Shut up boy, I knew you would be a bad influence on them,” making Nicky cower back in his seat. Andrew was surrounded by spineless wimps. The social worker was attempting to calm Luther down, and on either side of Andrew, Nicky cowered and Aaron stared at the floor. 

The thing was, the social worker, Charles, was wrong. The twins did have one last relative who could take them in. He looked to his left where his last chance sat hunched over his seat. It hadn’t taken long for Andrew to put together the pieces of his cousin. His seeming ostracization from the Hemmick’s god fearing house, and the couple of slips in his endless chatter about ‘Erik’ back in Germany when his voice held an unsubtle fondness. Maybe Andrew could play one last card that would push Nicky into action. 

“I’m gay.”

Nicky’s head shot up to look back at Andrew, something like horror and realization in his face. Behind him conversation halted, and he felt Aaron shift in his seat, the most reaction he had given through this whole process. Andrew kept his eyes on Nicky, and his cousin’s gaze slipped to stare at something over Andrew’s shoulder. 

The moment was broken by Luther’s scoff, and the social worker went on with some awkwardly stammered congratulations. Andrew didn’t pay any attention to either of them as Nicky looked back at him. 

“I can take them,” he said quietly enough that only Andrew (and maybe Aaron) could hear. He repeated himself louder, “I can take them.” And once again conversation halted as all attention was directed at him. 

Andrew turned back to the room at large, to see Charles giving them a sympathetic smile. “That’s very kind of you, but we would prefer someone with more financial stability. Taking care of kids, especially two, is hard and you should be taking this time to live out your youth.”

“Yes, Nicky. It’s better that I take the twins.” Andrew glanced at Luther to find the man already giving him a cold, calculating stare. 

Charles was nodding along, already pushing paperwork at Luther. Andrew’s heart sank, was his chance really going to slip through his fingers so easily. 

“He sent me to a conversion camp,” Nicky blurted. The social worker paused, “Luther sent me to a conversion camp.” Charles looked at Luther hesitating, but the man just smiled and smoothly said, “he’s lying.”

“Is he now?,” Charles asked, sounding decidedly unconvinced.

“I’m not. I have proof,” everybody watched, even Aaron, as Nicky pulled down the collar of his shirt to reveal the word ‘Sinner’ over his heart. It was a couple years old and already starting to fade, but it was clear the word had been branded into his skin. 

Luther blustered, “I-I-, I don’t know where that-” but the damage had already been done. Charles for a brief second dropped his head into his hands. 

“Sir,” he said a bit muffled, “can I ask you to wait outside.”

“I don’t see why I should, I am these kids’ rightful guardian.”

“Sir,” Charles interrupted, “conversion camps are illegal in the state of South Carolina. If you do not wait outside, I will be forced to call in security.” Luther stood up abruptly, knocking his chair back. Looking livid, he stomped out of the room, slamming the door on the way out. 

Sighing, Charles turned to Nicky, who looked ashen. “Mr. . . Hemmick if you could start by filling out these papers.” Shakily, his cousin picked up the pen and pulled the papers closer. 

It wasn’t a perfect solution, but Andrew was satisfied. Things had been a bit rough, but he was satisfied by the way things turned out. Tilda was out of the picture, and neither foster care nor Luther loomed over them anymore. Not that his twin seemed to appreciate it. By now, Aaron had gone back to staring at the floor. But that wasn’t a problem Andrew could solve. 

He’d kept his side of the deal, now all he had to do was wait for Aaron to fulfill his side as well. 

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Stefan hated Germany. He hated how drizzly it was and how he had to learn yet another new language (accompanied by his mother’s fists). He hated the strict teachers who gave him disapproving looks, even though he could barely speak German, and he hated his stuck up classmates that turned up their noses at his threadbare jeans and ratty sneakers. 

He returned to their shitty apartment, like so many before, and threw his bag down before collapsing on the bed with a huff. Brooding was not a pastime he normally indulged in. Stefan needed to be aware of his surroundings at all times, not stuck in his head. It was more up Andrew’s alley, anyway. However, he figured that he was allowed a few minutes of brooding. His mother, on the other hand, had not been pleased with his recent attitude. She’d slapped him across the face and told him to deal with it whenever he complained. 

Hearing the apartment door unlock, Stefan quickly sat up. Mia’s recent bouts of paranoia seemed to have faded a bit, but it still wouldn’t do for her to catch him relaxing. 

“How was school,” she asked.

“Nothing much,” he responded. Their secret code for asking if there was anything suspicious. On the surface level it seemed normal, but by now Stefan knew that most mothers asked that question because they were genuinely interested. He’d been play-pretending as normal enough to know the difference. 

Under his mom’s watchful eye, Stefan did his homework before they sat down to dinner together.

“I’m thinking about doing track,” Mia hummed in acknowledgement. Stefan’s new school required them to participate in a sport. Originally, he was going to pick soccer, but Mia had disagreed, so track was something like a compromise. 

After that they went back to the dinner in silence. Stefan had nothing else to say about school (he knew better than to voice his thoughts) and Mia had nothing to say about work. After taking turns in the bath, the both of them settled in bed. Though it was still quite early, Mia had the early shift tomorrow, and she wouldn’t let Stefan sleep without her. 

Still a bit restless, Stefan shifted and felt Mia’s arm tighten around him in warning. He obediently settled despite the tingling that ran up his legs with the urge to run. Instead, he let his mind wander in his place. He drifted off to a different place, where the only language he had to learn was “yes and no.” 

……………………………………………......……………………………………………………………...

It was a little over a month since shit went down, when news reached them that Tilda Minyard had overdosed. 

Nicky had just returned once more from Germany, where he had been collecting his stuff and informing his boyfriend, Erik, of the situation. In the meantime, Andrew had taken the opportunity to turn their bathroom into a stockpiler’s wet dream. He then barricaded his brother into the little shelter for the duration of Nicky’s absence. Two weeks. 

His twin did not appreciate Andrew’s homemade rehab center and spent half of those two weeks banging on the bathroom door and yelling insults at Andrew. The other half he spent vomiting into the toilet. Those two weeks were rough on Andrew as well as he spent them sitting in the hall outside the bathroom, waiting for his brother to fall asleep. The moment he heard Aaron’s yelling drift off into fitful sleep, he would sneak in, take out the trash, clean stray vomit and make sure his brother still had all ten fingers and toes. His vigilance plus the vulnerability of the hallway meant Andrew barely slept anymore than his twin. Needless to say, when their cousin returned to find them both gaunt-faced and dull-eyed, he’d spent a week fretting over them and being a general nuisance. The only upside was that Aaron seemed to be recovering from his withdrawal. 

It was soon after that a policewoman showed up at the apartment looking for Aaron and Andrew Minyard. In a way reminiscent to a similar situation months before, the woman informed them of Tilda’s apparent overdose. Before she had even finished the statement, Aaron turned and left. Shoving his shoulder against Andrew, who was fighting hard to force down a smile. Andrew only stayed long enough to hear that Luther had already taken care of the body identification, thank fuck. He let Nicky deal with the officer and went to go find his brother.

He found Aaron in their bedroom, a lump on the bed, shaking with the tremors of silent sobs. 

“Are you really crying over that bitch?”

“Go away,” Aaron screamed into his pillow. 

Andrew scoffed, “she isn’t worth whatever this breakdown is.” 

His twin whipped around so he could scream in Andrew’s face, “leave me the fuck alone.”

“Remember,” he said, letting his voice drop, “you promised to leave her behind.” He slammed the door shut, in time to hear something hit with a crash. Turning around, he saw his cousin anxiously waiting down the hallway. Not wanting to deal with him at the moment, Andrew brushed by him and out of the apartment.

. . .

It turns out Tilda was good for something. Or at least the money she left behind through life insurance was. Aaron stormed out when Andrew pointed this out and Nicky gave him a sad, but disappointed look. 

Still, whatever morals they were so bothered with weren’t enough to stop them from investing part of the money into buying a house in Columbia. The old apartment was shit, so it only made sense, but the two holier than thou grimaced their way through the transaction. Surprisingly enough, Nicky’s old host family from Germany, Erik’s family, had stepped in to help with the process. They must be closer to Nicky than Andrew had originally anticipated. 

Andrew spent a lot of time watching his cousin. The man was still virtually a stranger, though he kept attempting to give Andrew hugs. Yet, not once had he complained about leaving whatever life he had built in Germany to waste his days trying to raise two moody teenagers that he barely knew. Andrew was instinctively suspicious of such kindness, yet it was hard to find anything lying beneath Nicky’s bright smile, besides a line of exhaustion. 

Their cousin had secured a job at a diner called Sweeties almost as soon as he’d returned from Germany. That plus dealing with moving into a new house, and getting the twins set up for their first year of highschool, Andrew knew he must be drained. He always jolted awake in his new bedroom (thank fuck he and Aaron didn’t have to share anymore), whenever he heard Nicky come home at ungodly hours of the morning from a shift at Sweeties. He’d listen to his cousin shuffle around downstairs before finally going into his own bedroom, and then he’d jolt back awake when Nicky got up a few hours later for his next shift.

. . .

The heat began to lose its throttling grasp as a cool breeze and fall blew through Columbia. Unfortunately come fall, come l’école. While Andrew appreciated the cooler weather, the thought of the upcoming school year was enough to give him a headache. On the other hand, Aaron seemed almost giddy about school, which only bolstered Nicky’s own enthusiasm. More than once Andrew had been dragged to the mall to follow the two idiots around shopping for school supplies. How much did they need to buy anyway, was a notebook and pen not enough? His brother had even started a countdown to the first day of school, which Andrew had scoffed at. 

Come d-day, Nicky hurriedly piled the twins and their backpacks into an old hatchback (Andrew claiming shotgun, much to Aaron’s annoyance). They barely had time to swing by a Mcdonalds for breakfast, before they were pulling up in front of Columbia Highschool. Swarms of kids surrounded the entrance, catching up with friends they hadn’t seen all summer. It was frankly disgusting, in Andrew’s opinion. 

With tears already swelling in their cousin’s eyes, Andrew hastily made his escape from the car. His brother was not so lucky and got swept up in Nicky’s tearful hugs. Finally, Aaron stumbled out of the car looking haggard, and with one last sad wave Nicky sped off to his first shift of the day. He smirked at his brother's tousled hair, but Aaron just gave him the finger as he passed by. 

“Oy, Minyard! Over here!”

Andrew looked over to spot a group of guys all dressed in baggy clothing waving over at them, or well, at Aaron. They also looked to be older than the twins (though that wasn’t hard) by at least a couple of years. Considering Aaron’s recent druggie status, Andrew would bet money that they weren’t the highschool valedictorians. His brother made as if to go over to them, but Andrew reached out to snag the strap of his backpack. 

“Andrew what- what the fuck are you doing?,” his twin spluttered as he dragged him toward the entrance, leaving Aaron’s ‘friends’ to shout after them. “Andrew!”

“Nuh uh, little brother, I just got you clean and I’m going through that again anytime soon.”

Aaron finally managed to twist out of his grasp, “what the fuck? What the hell does that mean?”

“That means little brother,” he said slowly, “while I’m here there will be nothing, nobody, no one without my approval. You stick with me and I’ll stick with you”

“Fuck off,” but Andrew was done listening to Aaron’s complaints, so he turned his back and walked away. “And who said you were the older one, anyway!”

. . .

School went as school did, which was to say it was awful. Too many teachers wanting him to care more than Andrew ever would. Already harping on the idea of college and grades, as if school was the only thing that would give them self-worth. At the end of the day, Andrew was more than ready to escape the fluorescent lights of hell. 

“What are you looking at?”

Andrew looked over to where his brother had finished putting his stuff in his locker and was now coming over to Andrew. Unsurprisingly, the twins had the exact same schedule. There wasn’t much variation to the freshman classes, and Andrew had ensured they took the same lessons. Aside from Abram, he’d never really shared a class with a friend/brother/twin/whatever. Disappointingly, Aaron seemed to be a teacher’s pet and actually paid attention and took notes on the lesson. Seriously, it was only the first day, what could possibly be that important? Come lunch time, once again Aaron made to go over to his friends, but once again Andrew snagged his backpack and dragged him to another empty table. His twin had grumbled and cursed at him, but he still settled down across from Andrew. 

Now his brother stopped by his side to see the poster Andrew had been staring at for the past five minutes. 

“Oh, exy tryouts are this week. Are you signing up?”

He looked at his brother for a second, before turning on his heel and stomping away. 

“Hey! Hey Andrew, wait!,” Aaron called after him, jogging to catch up. They entered into the bright sunlight together, and immediately Andrew spotted Nicky’s car waiting for them in the parking lot.

“Shotgun,” he called, and almost smirked as he heard Aaron groan behind him. He was still whining as they slid into the car, their cousin looking overly excited as he pestered them with questions about their first day. Andrew closed his eyes and let his head thump back against the seat. Already tuning out his cousin. 

“Andrew, how was your first day? Andrew? Andrew, are you listening?

“Sucked.”

“What?”

“My day. It sucked.”

. . .

Nicky had taken a second job. Sweeties was good to its part-timers, but it wasn’t enough to pay the bills, so he had to take a second job to cover it. Andrew noticed that the dark circles under his cousin’s eyes were getting darker. He was still disgustingly cheerful every morning when he drove the twins to school, but Andrew knew he’d been getting back from work later every day. One time he’d asked Nicky why he didn’t just use the rest of the money Tilda left behind.

“Well, it would still run out, eventually. Besides,” he reached out to ruffle Andrew’s hair, who moved away just in time. Nicky’s hand fell back down by his side, “that’s there for you two little monsters.”

Andrew just couldn’t understand why someone would leave behind everything and move to a different country, just to take care of two broken brothers. Two brothers who some days were too broken to say even a word to him. Andrew also didn’t like being indebted to others. So one day while they were sitting down to dinner, which consisted of Chinese takeout, Nicky had picked up on his way back from work.

“What’s your job at Edens like?” 

“Huh?,” Nicky asked, startled by Andrew’s sudden interest, despite his best efforts to limit all interactions with his cousin. “Oh, it’s pretty chill. They’re going to start teaching me how to bar tend, even though I’m still under age.” His cousin groaned, “but we still need more hands in the back, we’re absolutely swamped over the weekends.”

“What about us?”

“What?”

“What?,” Aaron echoed.

“Would Eden’s hire us to work in the back as part-timers. We could work on weekends.”

There was a bang, as Aaron slammed down his chopsticks, “I’m sorry, why are you dragging me into your schemes?”

Andrew, as per usual, ignored his twin, “We’re signing up for the exy team.”

“We’re what now?”

This seemed to distract Nicky from his confusion as he butted back into the conversation. “Oh, really? I didn’t know you played. What position? I used to play backliner back in highschool, but it’s been such a long time-”

“It’s going to be expensive,” Andrew cut him off, “we’ll need equipment and the like.” At the prospect of more expenses, Nicky’s face fell just a bit, but enough for Andrew to notice. “So Aaron and I are going to have to get jobs to cover it.”

Nicky looked up to give him a considering look. After a long moment he said, “I can look into it.”

“Good,” Andrew replied shortly and then promptly stood from the table to retreat to his room. 

The sound of stomping footsteps following him quickened Andrew’s pulse, even though he knew it was just Aaron. His brother grabbed his arm and spun him around, a shiver of revulsion running through Andrew. 

“Why the hell, did you say all that? Exy? Part-time jobs? I can’t afford to take it easy, I have to focus on my grades,” his twin fumed, “not all of us can be so uncaring about our future.”

“I’m sure you were very caring about your future when you were popping pills back with mommy,” Andrew used Aaron’s stunned surprise to shake off his hand.

“Being on the exy team will look good on your resume for college.” He watched as his brother’s face twisted into one of loath acceptance.

“Maybe, but part-time jobs? I’m not going to have time for one of those?”

“Oh, so you’re going to rely on Nicky to pull your ass through the mud?,” he taunted Aaron. “Besides, better start saving up for college now, mommy’s not going to pay for everything.”

He left as Aaron’s face contorted into a snarl, not wanting to hear whatever hateful words were spat at his back. Aaron may not like it, but he knew Andrew was right. He just had to pull his head out of his ass to see it. 

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

With the blow of a whistle, Abram was set free. His shoes ate up the track and if he focused he could ignore the fact that he was going in circles and instead just imagine himself running far, far away from all of his problems. 

As he stumbled to a stop, the track coach clicked his stopwatch and then made small approving noises at the device. Apparently Abram had some sort of hidden talent for running (who would’ve guessed), and already there was some murmuring about the upcoming track season. Abram would be more concerned, but he knew they probably wouldn’t stick around long enough for Abram to go to a single meet. 

His teammates clapped him on the back as they made their way inside to change out. Abram stuck around with the excuse of running some cool down laps. At least he found running to be liberating, but it lacked that sharp edge of violence of exy that made it exhilarating. Still, it was a compromise. Abram would probably never play exy again for the rest of his life, and he had come to terms with that. He had. He was determined to be content with fanboying from the sidelines. 

After a quick shower, Abram left the locker rooms to find one of his teammates lounging outside the door. The boy was looking down at his phone, so he hadn’t yet noticed Abram. He was taller than Abram (though that wasn’t anything special) with dark brown hair, and Abram wracked his head to remember his name. The boy finally looked up and immediately zeroed in on Abram and gave him a bright smile that set his teeth on edge.

“Stefan!”

Abram nodded, “Lu- Lucas.” Impossibly the boy’s smile grew wider, so Abram assumed he’d guessed correctly.

“Yeah,” he replied with a laugh. When the other boy offered nothing else, Abram shifted on his feet and then began inching around him, eager to get home and take a nap.

“Hey,” he froze and looked back at Lucas, who was sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. “Do you maybe, want to walk home together?”

“Uhhh.”

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

“I was supposed to have those limes ten minutes ago!”

“We need more ice up front!”

“We’re running low on clean plates!”

Working at Eden’s was a hectic and wild affair that Andrew easily fell into the rhythm of. He was good at thinking on his feet, a necessary skill in many of his old foster homes. Plus, running around all night kept him out of his head. He didn’t have to think to chop vegetables or wash dishes. 

They kept him and Aaron in the back. Nicky might be able to pass for 21 but the twins didn’t even look highschool age. That was fine with Andrew, as long as it meant he didn’t have to interact with customers. He’d never been a people pleaser, so he strongly doubted he’d make it anywhere in customer service.

Abram had once said to him, “you smile for yourself and no one else,” before flashing him a crooked grin that made Andrew’s heart hit a staccato beat. 

“I like it.”

Aaron had grumbled a lot in the beginning, but once the paychecks started rolling in, his complaints steadily decreased. It wasn’t much since Eden’s was sort of paying the twins under the table, but it was two more separate incomes to support the house. Andrew pretended to not see Nicky’s grateful looks every time he tossed his cousin half his paycheck.

So, yes, Eden’s wasn’t too offensive. The other bartender in training (along with Nicky) was even less offensive. Nicky had pointed out Roland during one of their breaks, and then gave Andrew a saucy wink.

“Isn’t he fine cousin dearest?,” his cousin asked while Aaron made retching noises to the other side of Andrew. 

Andrew pointed one finger at Nicky, “not your dearest and,” after a long moment he sighed reluctantly, “yes.” Nicky cheered loudly, but Andrew had seen pictures of Nicky’s boyfriend Erik, and had to admit his cousin had good taste in men. 

So Andrew had taken to admiring the stretch of Roland’s shirt over his broad shoulders, as well as the swell of his biceps. But he remained nothing more than something nice to look at. There was only one person in Andrew’s life that had become a possibility of something more, a pipe dream, but he was far, far away from Andrew. 

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Lucas had, unfortunately, taken to walking Abram back every day after practice. Or at least where he thought Abram's house was, but was actually a couple blocks down from where he actually lived. Abram just couldn’t find a good enough excuse to refuse. Lucas had been on the team for the past few years, and Stefan was the outsider here. If Lucas got mad once he was rejected it wouldn’t take long for the rest of the team to turn on him as well. So Abram endured the long side glances and accidental touches as best he could. At least his mom hadn’t caught on yet. 

Practice ended early that day, much to Abram’s relief. It was exhausting to make sure he ran at a fast enough speed to not bring any concern, but slow enough that his coach wouldn’t give him any more friendly shoulder pats. As usual, Abram stayed behind to do cool down laps, only heading in when he was sure the showers were empty. And as usual, Lucas was waiting for him just outside the door. Abram stifled a sigh when he saw the boy leaning against the wall. As usual, Lucas babbled on with Abram only inputting appropriate head nods and non-committal hums. Abram couldn’t wait for when his mom moved them to the next city. 

With a clearing of his throat, Lucas suddenly stopped mid-stride. Abram was thrown for a second by the change in routine and looked over to where the other boy was staring off into the distance. 

“Hey, do you want to maybe go sit over on that bench?” Abram looked over at the bench Lucas pointed to but couldn’t see anything special about it. Still, he nodded reluctantly and let Lucas lead him over. 

They sat there for a few uncomfortable minutes before Lucas worked up the courage to say whatever he wanted to ask. “So I don’t know if you’ve noticed, you probably have,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh, “but I really like you Stefan, and I was wondering ifmaybeyouwouldletmekissyou?”

“Uhh,” was all Abram managed to respond before Lucas broke in again. “I mean you don’t have to of course, that’s totally fine as well.”

“Sure.”

“Really?,” Lucas’ voice cracked, “ah shit, um, yeah, ok.” He leaned in slowly while Abram forced himself to stay still. Lucas, fluttering his eyes closed, reminded Abram to close his eyes at the last second and then their lips touched. Abram held still and waited. Waited for whatever feeling hit him with Andrew to strike again. Waited for that moment when he could prove to himself that it was more than just Andrew. But that moment never came. Lucas reached up with a hand to settle it on Abram’s cheek. It was warm, but it was just the warmth of another living person. It didn’t spark anything deeper in Abram like a pair of piercing hazel eyes would.

Already bored with this, Abram opened his eyes, and all of that casual boredom sunk to the pit of his stomach like a rock. The figure behind Lucas stared back with similar horror.

Abram broke away from the other boy and stumbled to his feet. Still the figure didn’t move.

“M-mom?”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Andrew showed up for Exy tryouts that Wednesday, and because Aaron had taken to following him around like a lost duckling, he showed up for exy tryouts as well. Nicky was also particularly ecstatic when Andrew told him to pick them up later than usual. Apparently, he thought they were too antisocial or something. At their cousin's comment, Aaron muttered something under his breath that Andrew generously elected to ignore. 

The Exy team at Columbia highschool had a decent reputation, so there were many bright eyed hopefuls gathered at the court that day. Most were shooting their shot at being a striker, and a good number for dealers and backliners. Only two others were trying out for goalie.

Paul once explained to him that goalie was the least desirable position, and most players start off in another position. Goalies didn’t get the glory of scoring points, and yet every point lost fell directly on their shoulders. Being stuck in a box also didn’t give them many opportunities for the aggressive plays favored in Exy. But even Paul had to admit Andrew was perfect for the goal. When he cared to, Andrew defended his goal with a ferocity, and his perfect recall helped him analyze different playing styles, and formulate a defense. Plus, he had plenty of tricks to channel his aggression, despite being stuck in a box.

Andrew didn’t think he was imagining things when the coach kept a closer eye on him out of all the other players. With an approving nod, both he and Aaron made the team as subs. Nicky was over the moon.

. . .

“I’m going to a friend’s house to study,” Aaron called to the accompaniment of thundering footsteps down the stairs. Andrew lifted his head from where he was laying on his bed

He heard Nicky from the kitchen question, “huh? Where? With who?”

“Just with some friends,” Aaron replied vaguely and judging by their cousin’s excited gushing (probably overjoyed that one of the twins was socializing) he’d bought Aaron’s bullshit answer. Andrew on the other hand knew that his twin's social circle in class was limited to just himself. He didn’t talk to any other kids in their class. Which meant that Aaron was probably going to go hang out with his druggie friends, and they probably weren’t too interested in studying. 

Andrew sighed, he was going to have to deal with this problem sooner rather than later. For now, he just fell back against his pillows and resumed staring at the ceiling.

. . . 

There were 6 in Aaron’s little friend group, not including his brother. For a brief second Andrew debated taking a similar route he had with Tilda, but with 6 of them it would take a lot of planning and Andrew might come away with a bit more than a few bruises. Also, although growing up rough meant he knew how to take care of himself in a fight, going against 6 guys who all had at least a foot on him, Andrew wasn’t taking his chances. It seemed Andrew was going to have to take a more indirect route. 

Andrew’s plan fell into place with Liam Sanders, the unofficial leader and drug dealer to Aaron’s little group. Confident in his little pubescent mind that he couldn’t get caught, the idiot held many of his drug deals at the highschool. There were only so many places you could hide drugs on school grounds, especially if you had the creativity of a squashed melon. More than once, Andrew seriously questioned why the hell Aaron would let himself get dragged around by a moron. 

And so, after some observation to see how Sanders’ deals worked, and an anonymous tip, the trap was set. 

. . .

Andrew was truly just minding his own business, eating his cocoa puffs at the small, rickety dining table. Just waiting for his brother to get home from his recent ‘study session’. Aaron had only left 15 minutes ago but considering Liam Sanders had just been arrested after drugs had been found in his locker, Andrew didn’t think the ‘study session’ was going to last very long.

“You motherfucker,” Aaron trumpeted his return with a slam of the door.

“Wouldn’t even if you paid me.”

Suddenly Andrew was being wrenched around by a hand in his collar, “what the fuck did you do,” Aaron spat in his face.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“Fuck you, Liam Sanders just got arrested for drug dealing-”

“Yes, the whole school knows.”

“And for some reason, the boys think I’m the snitch.”

“Funny that, a lot of trust between druggies.”

Aaron growled, “you did something, I know you did.” All Andrew gave in response was a nonchalant shrug. Well, as good of a shrug as he could get with his twin still gripping him by his collar.

At this time Nicky came thundering down the stairs, “guys what’s going on?” He gasped when he saw the twins but only hovered ineffectively to the side. “Can we please not fight? Please Aaron, please?”

Andrew grit his teeth at the word.

“You just couldn’t let me be after all you’ve done to this family,” Andrew let out a huff of disbelief. “You just have to drag everyone into your miserable life, me, Nicky, mom. Maybe seeing other people happy makes your shriveled little heart jealous, or maybe you’re just that twisted. But I think mom had the right idea, giving you away.” And with that, Aaron let go.

Andrew didn’t watch his brother walk up the stairs, nor did he watch Nicky flutter worriedly next to him before eventually following Aaron. He just stared down at his soggy cocoa puffs. This day would make the list. He took a last bite of cereal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hoped y'all enjoyed that! Trust me it is so satisfying to finally get this chapter out. 
> 
> A quick disclaimer that I promised y'all. About Andrew's home recipe of drug rehabilitation, this is not healthy. Please don't do this and if you or a loved one are battling an addiction please seek actual professional help. I mentioned in the last chapter that a lot of the choices Andrew makes are not the healthiest when it comes to him and Aaron and I stand by that. He is a 14yo struggling to overcome his own trauma and won't make the wisest decisions, which is why he has to grow as a person(or character).
> 
> But to end on a happy note, I appreciate every kudos/comment y'all give me and I wish to return the love ten-fold. Mwah, y'all are the best!!! <3

**Author's Note:**

> lol, dramatic Andreil argument in the rain, I am ashamed at my cheesiness. And I'm sure y'all know what that later is.
> 
> Abram meets boy in bathroom.  
> Abram: I will tell this stranger all of my secrets.
> 
> Also, I would love to see Andrew as Alice from Alice in Wonderland with Neil as the white rabbit.  
> I'm starting on ch 2, but I'm kind of a slow writer so it's going to take me a bit to get out the next chapter. But I will do my best to be as speedy as possible!  
> I hope y'all enjoyed it, thanks for reading!


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